End of the World (Beginning of Us)
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: Remus is an angel, and Sirius is a demon. The two struggle to raise an orphaned halfling during the end of the world, when nothing is what it seems.


_For Liza via the gift tag_

_Word Count: 25,196 (aka I had a plan and it wouldn't stop)_

i.

The child is not meant to be born at all. The union between an angel and demon is forbidden by the most ancient laws, and the two responsible have been dealt with.

But this…

He watches the newborn curiously. "And what am I supposed to do with you?"

This has never happened before, and even he is at a loss. The child cannot be destroyed; perhaps that would be the sensible route to take, but he doesn't know what the boy is. There has never been an offspring born of a demon and angel. He has no idea what this child is capable of or what he could grow to be.

He laughs. Somehow, there are still things that even a divine creator cannot understand.

Almost reluctantly, he waves a hand, summoning a portal to the pits of hell. Within seconds, a face appears.

"Ah, Albus." Gellert grins at him. "How long has it been since you've paid me a visit? Was it Job? Are we having another little gamble?"

Albus shakes his head. He glances back at the slumbering child. "You'll find that I have slain one of your demons," he says.

"Ah. Is that where James has disappeared to? Does this mean I get one of your angels now?"

Albus turns his attention back to the portal. How is it that Gellert remains unfazed by anything that happens? Is he truly so detached from his own creations that he does not care whether they live or die? Albus has always taken pride in everything he creates. Smiting Lily had pained him.

"I've had to slay one of mine as well."

This seems to get Gellert's attention now. His grin broadens until Albus is afraid his face might split in two. He leans in, as though he would be able to dive through the portal and walk between worlds, as though he would be welcome in this dimension. "Well, now, isn't this interesting?" He taps his finger against his chin. "One of my demons _and _one of your own angels?"

Albus nods. "They engaged in a sinful union."

Gellert laughs. "Don't be such a prude," he says, smirking. "Only you would care about whether or not it's sinful. Such things happen." As if to emphasize how boring the matter is, he covers his mouth and yawns loudly. "Hardly means we need to chat."

"This is different." Albus lifts the child carefully so that Gellert can see. "They reproduced."

Gellert's interest returns. His eyes widen and he leans so close against the portal that Albus can't see anything other than a close up of his face. "What is it?"

Albus shrugs. "They offspring of angels and human are Nephilim, but I'm not sure that there has ever been one like this. I don't think there _is _a name for what he is."

Gellert pulls back. For several seconds, he remains quiet, his silence only interrupted by the slow, steady tapping of his fingers as he seems to lose himself in thought. "We don't know what he is," he says at last.

"Nor do we know what he could become."

Gellert exhales heavily, pushing a hand through his fair hair. "We'll have to keep an eye on him."

Albus frowns at that. He had been afraid that might be the case, and he hates it. As curious as he may be about the child, he has too many other things to deal with. He suspects Gellert would have the same problem as well. How could either of them be expected to watch this boy?

"Send him to me," Gellert suggests. "I'm sure someone around here can watch over the boy."

Albus raises his brows incredulously. "Let him wander around Hell among the demons?"

"He _is _half demon."

"As well as half angel," Albus counters calmly. "It would be unfair to his development to force him into one environment."

Gellert steps back and begins to pace back and forth. Several times, he disappears from the view of the portal, and each time he passes by, he looks slightly more annoyed.

Finally, he stops. "He belongs to both worlds."

Albus nods. "Our best solution might be to place him on neutral ground."

Really, he doesn't like the idea of it. He knows what the earth is like. Humans are one of his favorite creations, but they can be so cruel sometimes, especially to creatures that are unusual. The boy is about as unusual as they come. Albus isn't sure that any of his earthly creations would be able to handle the infant when he grows.

As though he can read Albus' thoughts, Gellert says, "I have a demon who is as loyal as they come. He will gladly look after the boy on earth."

Albus takes a deep breath, reminding himself to stay calm. Sometimes he really despises Gellert's eagerness to take control. It's one of the many reasons he had been cast out millennia ago."I would not feel comfortable with this," he says. "The point of putting him on neutral ground is so that neither side has an unfair claim to him."

Gellert considers this for several moments. He folds his arms over his chest, pursing his lips. "I'm sure you have a little do-gooder who would be happy to raise the boy," he says.

Albus ponders this. There are quite a few members of the heavenly host who are tasked simply with looking after children. Though he's sure one of them would happily accept the post, they are too busy for such things. Even assigning one of them would disrupt the order of things and plunge the heavens into chaos. In that way, he wonders if, perhaps, Gellert has a better design.

"I believe I know someone," Albus says.

It isn't a perfect match. The angel he has in mind hadn't been created for children, but he has served Albus well for the last several centuries.

"Excellent! I will draw up a marriage contract. I know how you tend to frown on people who aren't married first." Gellert smirks suggestively. "Now, your angel… What is her name?"

"His," Albus corrects.

The smirk fades almost instantly. Gellert stares at him, jaw slack. "A male? I thought you frowned on the whole homosexuality thing."

Albus rolls his eyes. "Mankind gets a lot of things wrong," he mutters.

"His name," Gellert presses. "The sooner we arrange this, the sooner we can get everything settled."

"His name is Remus."

…

"Please don't get me wrong," Remus says, his hand trembling as he rakes his fingers through his tawny hair, "but I'm not sure that I'm the right person for this job."

It's flattering, of course. Typically, an angel's orders come from a higher ranking angel. It's insanely rare that Albus offers an assignment. Remus should take it without question, but he is afraid. Why in the world would Albus trust him with something this big? Remus is ancient, and he is loyal to the cause, but he is little more than a foot soldier. What good can he do?

Still, if Albus thinks he's the right angel for the job, he can hardly refuse. Remus envies the humans for their free will. He wonders what it must be like to live a life that is not dedicated to serving all the time.

"I can't think of anyone else I would trust with this," Albus tells him.

Remus swallows dryly. That's an awful lot of pressure. And for what? Some strange, orphaned abomination? It isn't like Albus to get invested in something so easily.

He bounces on the balls of his feet, taking a deep breath. His white, feathery wings tremble slightly, and he knows it is more from excitement than fear.

"I trust your judgement," the creator continues. "Goodness knows we need someone with a level head if we have to share the child with… the others."

The demons. Remus' nostrils flare. He's fought with the demons so many times during his existence. The thought of working with one–worse still, _marrying _one for the sake of appearances–is enough to make his blood boil. If nothing else, he thinks that maybe he should agree simply to protect this child from the forces of evil.

"I'm not sure that I can refuse," Remus chuckles. "But you already know that."

Albus' blue eyes twinkle, but he doesn't acknowledge this. "Excellent." He claps his hands together. "Arrangements are being made. You and the demon will have a home, a source of income–all the things you could possibly need while down there. Everything will be taken care of."

Remus nods. He supposes that he is lucky to have a creator who cares so much. Without Albus' goodness, Remus might have been thrown to earth and expected to figure things out on his own. He drops to his knees and bows his head. "Thank you, Great Creator."

Albus rests a hand on Remus' shoulder and guides him to his feet. "You can show your gratitude by not failing me in this mission," he says. "It is quite possible that the fate of humanity may depend on this child."

Remus' eyes widen. He knows that the mystery surrounding the infant has made him a top priority, but this seems outrageous. The fate of humanity? Is it really possible that one child could be so important? Then again, he supposes Newt Scamander, as Albus' son upon the earth, had been just a lone child, and everyone knows how important he had been.

"I will not let you down," Remus says quietly.

Albus nods, beaming at him. "I know that you won't," he says. "Now, we must leave. It is time for your union."

Remus shudders. He doesn't want to marry such an unholy creature, but he will follow Albus' commands without question, ever the faithful servant. He only hopes that this is worth it.

…

It feels so good to be back on Earth again. Sirius takes a deep breath. His dark, bat-like wings are tense, and he longs to spring into action. The smell of innocence and hope perfumes the air, and he longs to change it, to break it down until it becomes chaos and corruption.

Soon. He has a few little issues to deal with first, then he can run off and spread all the destruction he wants. At least, he hopes he can. His lips twist into an annoyed scowl.

He's never cared for the idea of marriage. Where's the thrill in monogamy? Why would anyone want to torture themselves by willingly going through the same thing every day and spending their time with the same person? It's disgusting. Sirius would much rather spend his time casually seducing an entire town before moving on to the next one.

"What's so special about this kid?" he asks, leaping onto the branch of a nearby apple tree and perching carefully. He plucks a shiny red apple and smirks. "Look familiar?"

Gellert huffs, eyes rolling. "It wasn't a bloody apple," he snaps. "Why that particular fruit keeps popping up is beyond me."

"The kid," Sirius prompts.

His master shakes his head, composing his features once more. "No one knows," he says. "That's why I need you to keep an eye on him."

"And an angel." It's hard to keep the bitterness from his voice. Sirius clenches his fist, and the apple slowly begins to rot in his hand.

"Neutral territory means a neutral upbringing," Gellert says.

Sirius rolls his eyes. He knows, of course. Just because he doesn't like it, doesn't mean he doesn't understand; he's an asshole, not an idiot. No one knows what the boy will grow to be, and neither side wants the other to have exclusive access to him.

To be fair, they could easily wage a war. Winner would get the boy, and the losing side would be massacred with little chance to ever fully recover. While it's a nice thought that fills his twisted black heart with the greatest joy, he knows it isn't logical. Any major conflict like that would speed up the end of days, and he knows no one actually wants that quite yet.

"That must be him."

Sirius follows his master's gaze and grins. The angel looks so pure and lovely with his bright, amber eyes and perfectly messy tawny hair. The white wings behind him just drives Sirius crazy. He would love nothing more than to grab him by those pretty feathers and drag him off to properly and thoroughly corrupt him.

Except the angel does not look even slightly happy to see Sirius. His amber eyes narrow, and he folds his arms over his chest. As he and Albus approach, the angel keeps his distance, standing almost directly behind Albus as though it can hide him. Sirius almost laughs.

"Don't worry, pretty boy," Sirius calls, hopping down from the tree and smirking. He adjusts the leather jacket that he's come to favor during his time on the surface. "When I corrupt you, you'll enjoy every second of it."

The angel huffs. "You should consider yourself lucky that I am not allowed to strike you down." For someone so pretty, he speaks with such chilling authority. "I assure you, I would reduce you to ash."

Sirius keeps his features composed, though he feels a flicker of fear and excitement flutter through his body. His wings flap once before folding forward and wrapping around his body. "You're into foreplay, I see."

"You're insufferable."

"Really? I think I'm quite charming."

Albus clears his throat. "If you two don't mind, we do have important, pressing matters to attend to," he says.

"Yes, sir!" the angel says, standing straight and saluting.

Sirius rolls his eyes. Angels are bizarre creatures with their rules and law and order. He would hate to be like that.

"Right, well, let's get to it," Gellert says.

Sirius moves closer and holds out his hand. "May I at least learn the name of the man I'm marrying?" he asks.

"Remus."

"I'm Sirius."

…

Gellert watches as the newlyweds walk away. Sirius awkwardly holds the baby boy in a way that would probably earn him disapproving glares from actual parents. Something tells him that this will be a long and interesting experiment.

He turns his attention to Albus, offering him a crooked smile. "Do you really think this will work?" he asks. "That angel of yours seems a bit uptight. I think Sirius would be fine raising the boy alone."

Albus glares at him. It's amazing that such kind, calm eyes are capable of holding so much hostility. "Neutrality is key," he says, his tone sharp.

Gellert shrugs and kicks a fallen apple with as much force as he can manage. It soars through the air before smashing into a tree a good distance away. "Are you saying you don't trust me?" he asks innocently, the smallest of smiles playing at his lips.

The other man laughs, but there is no humor in the sound. "You are, quite literally, the embodiment of evil," he points out. "Forgive me if I'm a bit on the hesitant side."

_Embodiment of evil. _That isn't quite true, but he doubts Albus wants to hear about that. The true embodiment of evil is currently an angsty teenager with a diary, and Albus isn't even aware of him yet.

"Something bothering you?" Albus asks.

Gellert offers him a bright smile. "Nothing," he says. "Nothing at all."

Things are already in motion, and they cannot be stopped. His players are making their way to the field, and it's only a matter of time before the land is watered with blood.

"What do you think he is?" Albus wonders, though Gellert isn't sure if Albus is just thinking out loud. "What will he grow to be?"

"You have your suspicions, don't you?" Gellert gives him a knowing look.

He has his own theories. There are ancient prophecies that have long since been forgotten. How long as it been? Decades? Centuries? Longer? No one alive today will have heard the prophecies, but Gellert remembers them well.

It's funny that men had written that little book for Albus, but, over time, much of the sacred texts had been tossed aside to be forgotten. Some have argued that it had been little more than an oversight. Gellert suspects it's because some books did not fit the narrative that the church wanted to push; the fact that the prophecies had been made by a woman probably hadn't helped.

"A child would be born of light and darkness," Albus mutters.

So he _is _thinking of the same prophecy. At least Gellert isn't alone in his train of thought. "If this is true, you know what this could mean," he says, and it's hard to hide the excitement from his voice.

"There are many possibilities," Albus says calmly, lacing his fingers together. "No one can be sure."

But Gellert thinks he might know, and Albus looks troubled–though Albus tries to hide, Gellert has always had the ability to see right through him.

Gellert has the most pieces on the board, which tips the prophecy in his favor. The child born of light and darkness will have a battle to face. Should light win out, the child will emerge as a champion of good. But if darkness is triumphant…

"I suppose all will be revealed in good time, old friend," Gellert says with a polite bow of his head. "Now, if you'll excuse me. So many souls to torment, so little time."

He doesn't wait for a response. Grinning from ear to ear, Gellert disappears, barely able to contain his laughter. So many have studied that final book, and they think they know how the world will end. But they do not know how biased it is, and Gellert does not plan to give up without a fight. If the boy becomes his champion, Albus will never stand chance during that final battle.

His eyes roll back in his head, and he reaches out until the tendrils or his being can touch Sirius' mind. "Do not let me down," he says.

ii.

"Does it ever stop crying?" Sirius asks.

Remus glares at the demon. It's bad enough that he's stuck with a demon at all, but Sirius seems to enjoy complaining about the smallest things. It's enough to drive him mad. "Harry isn't an _it_," he snaps, rocking the infant with his foot as he balances a parenting book on his lap. "He's a _he_."

"Harry?"

Remus shrugs. "Seemed a fitting name," he says. "It means 'home protector'."

"Well, that's all nice and poetic, but will you get the damn thing to stop making that noise?"

"Harry is a _baby, _not a thing!" Remus sets the book aside and leans down, picking up the infant. "Good. No bursts of holy light. No… whatever it is that demons do. Very good."

Remus sometimes wonders if there might be a mistake in Harry's identity. Angels and demons both have devastating power. Surely an infant with little to no control over his own body would have unstable outbursts. He's spent the past week bracing for absolute catastrophe, but nothing has happened yet, aside from one minor earthquake when Remus hadn't been quick enough with his bottle.

"There we are," Remus says, gently rocking Harry in his arms. "There's a good boy. You like it when Daddy rocks you, don't you?"

"Why do _you _get to be Daddy?" Sirius asks. "I'm more of a Daddy than you. You look more like a Father." He moves closer and pinches the fabric of Remus' mustard yellow cardigan. "Just look at you."

Remus decides to ignore him. Things have gotten off to a rocky start, and he's found himself horribly tempted to strike the demon down. He refuses to be the one to break the uneasy peace between their realms.

Instead, he focuses on Harry, curious by the little squirming bundle in his arms. Harry behaves very much like a human baby would; it's easy to forget that he holds so much terrifying potential in his tiny frame.

So much mystery surrounds Harry. Will he be more angelic or demonic? Will the two extremes cancel one another out? Remus hates not knowing. He has studied his fair share of mortal scholars, and he has taken a liking to philosophy. It makes him feel like he has a grasp on some of the great unknowns. It pains him to not have even the slightest inkling about something.

Slowly, Harry's cries begin to fade. His emerald eyes close, and he falls still, drifting off to sleep. Remus smiles down at him. "Quite possibly one of the most beautiful abominations I've ever seen."

Sirius scoffs. "Oh, Newt fucking Scamander! And you act like _I'm _the awful one."

Remus winces. "I would appreciate it if you didn't take his name in vain," he snaps. "But you _are _a demon. By default, you are awful."

"Says the creature that just called a baby an abomination."

"His age does not stop him from being an abomination," Remus reasons, amusing himself but running a finger through Harry's silky black hair. "By the laws of Heaven, the boy should not exist."

"And that," Sirius says, clapping his hands with conviction, "is exactly why _you _are awful. Do you base what is good on what the laws allow?"

"Shh." Remus bounces Harry slightly when his squirming resumes, no doubt provoked by Sirius' loud, obnoxious outburst. "The law is the law. It should be obeyed, not questioned."

"What of the laws of man? Nazis murdered countless people because it was legal and encouraged!" Sirius throws himself into the nearest armchair, dangling his legs over the left arm. "And don't you guys upstairs have that 'on Earth as it is in Heaven' thing? Well, if mankind has bullshit laws, don't you think that maybe your maker does too?"

Remus shifts uncomfortably. He's entered the realm of men hundreds of times during his existence. This isn't the first time he's been confronted with these sorts of questions. Atheists and freethinkers have posed moral dilemmas since the dawn of time. Remus wants to be able to answer them with certainty and authority, but he finds his insides quivering.

He would never dare to question Albus, even if the humans do. It is his duty as one of the heavenly host to follow him and walk by faith. All things are part of the grand plan, and all laws have their purpose.

"I do not condone what those monsters did," Remus says curtly.

Sirius shrugs and jumps to his feet again. He offers Remus a mock salute and smirks at him as though there's something funny. "Whatever you say," he snorts before snapping his fingers and summoning his leather jacket and slips it on. He plucks a cigarette from the pocket and tucks it between his lips.

Remus wrinkles his nose."Don't you dare light that in this house," he snaps.

Sirius just offers him a bright grin, the cigarette dangling lazily from his mouth. "Wouldn't dream of it. I'm going out."

"Out?" Remus echoes, frowning. Sirius has proven to have this nasty habit of disappearing at night and not coming back until in the morning. It bothers Remus–not because Remus actually cares for him, but because they're supposed to be a team, and it's hard to do that when he's by himself. "Where are you going?"

Sirius turns his back on him. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he asks.

"As it happens, I would. That's why I asked."

Sirius doesn't answer. Without so much as a goodbye, he stalks toward the front door and disappears into the night. Remus stares after him for several seconds, eyes fixed upon the spot the demon had been only moments before.

"It's okay," he tells Harry, though the tiny halfling sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware of and unfazed by Sirius' sudden disappearance. "We don't need him anyway, do we?"

He doesn't know why Gellert had been so eager to offer Sirius as a guardian for the child, or why Albus agreed to it. Really, Albus could have kept Harry a secret, and none of this would have happened at all.

He thinks that maybe there are greater things at work, and bigger pictures he cannot yet see. All he can do is sit back and perform his duty, content with the knowledge that Albus knows what is best.

…

Sirius hates the small suburban home that Gellert has put them in. The air smells too clean with its perfect little families. He lights his cigarette as he stalks through the streets, desperate to escape. This is not his idea of a good time; he needs something dark and terrible.

It had only taken him a day to find the seedy part of town. It has become his escape, his safe haven, and it isn't too far from the obnoxiously cozy little house that he has to share with the obnoxiously good little angel.

He supposes Remus isn't completely terrible. At the very least, he seems like he would be a nice piece of ass. More than once, Sirius has contemplated the possibility of angry hate-sex during their many arguments and fights, but Remus remains far too virtuous.

He takes a deep drag from the cigarette, savoring the smoke and its glorious chemicals that fill his lungs. He exhales.

It doesn't take long to reach the sketchy neighborhood. The second he crosses from the picturesque, Stepford-like area into the grimy, poorly lit part of town over the tracks, Sirius feels his body relax. This is more like it.

He breathes deeply, licking his lips. The sin is so heavy in the air that he can taste it. This should have been their home. There's a nice little opium den–which seems so out of place this late in the century, but he doesn't mind; it is just one more way that humans sell their souls and slip farther from redemption–bars, prostitutes galore, and so many other fun things to get into. It's the perfect place to raise a child.

"Hey, sexy," a woman wearing nothing but a white fur coat over black lace panties and bra says, leaning in as Sirius approaches. "You looking for a good time tonight?"

Sirius stops in front of her, grinning. "Oh, yes. I'm looking for the _best _time."

He reaches out and touches his fingers to her forehead. Her eyes roll back in her head, and she sways slightly but manages to maintain her balance. It's so easy to let chaos and darkness flow from his being and into her body; she is a broken, pitiful creature, and she accepts it so easily.

"There you go," he says, grinning as she begins to tremble. Slowly, she regains her senses. "Now, be a good girl and spread the chaos."

Her plump lips twist into a bright grin, and she nods. "Chaos," she echoes before walking past him, stumbling slightly, drunk on the darkness he has slipped into her mind.

He doesn't know where she'll go or what she'll do, and he doesn't care. The lives of humans are so short and boring. If not for his innate desire to twist and warp the souls, he would not bother with them at all.

Sirius drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it beneath his boot. He pulls out yet another one and lights it. He's lost count of how many he's had already. It seems as though chain smoking is one of the few pleasures he truly has.

Puffing away and leaving a trail of smoke as he goes, he makes his way to the bar. It's dark and loud, and Sirius has never felt more alive. He breathes in the scent of smoke and beer and sweat, and he grins. There is nothing more satisfying than this. He can smell the desperation in the air as he takes a seat.

This is the place he loves the most. He can just sit back and relax. Chaos and self-destruction happen so naturally here. Every bar always has someone ready to fight, someone ready to fuck, and someone slowly killing themselves by drowning their sorrows to escape the world. Sirius doesn't even have to lift a finger.

"Scotch," he says, resting his elbows on the bar and grinning at the bartender.

On the other side of the building, he hears the unmistakable sound of knuckles slamming into flesh, and it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. A glass breaks, and a chair skids noisily across the cracked concrete floor.

"Think this is a fucking game, mate? No one crosses Noah the Knife."

"Better make it a whole bottle," Sirius adds.

The bartender brings him the bottle and a glass. Sirius turns in his seat so that he can have a good view of the fight that's unfolding. He stretches out and rests his legs on the stool next to him before opening the bottle and sniffing. It's warm and smoky, and maybe it makes him a little homesick for the darkest corners of Hell.

"Cheers," he mutters, foregoing the glass and taking a deep swig from the bottle. It burns all the way down, and Sirius loves it.

…

Remus wakes with a start, his stomach twisting itself into knots as he breathes in the sour scent of alcohol and bad breath. His wings spread defensively, and he bolts upright. Though his mind is still sluggish, and he is still half-asleep, it doesn't take much to call down the wrath of heaven. Outside, the quiet night is interrupted by the sudden clap of thunder, and what appears to be lightning strikes inside the bedroom, leaving a scorch mark on the bed.

"What the actual fuck, mate?" Sirius demands from the floor where he has fallen, his words slurring badly. "Was just trying to cuddle you."

It slowly begins to make sense. Sirius is drunk, and if drunk humans do stupid things, why should drunk demons be any different? Remus glares at him. "I've ruined my bed," he says sharply.

"And whose fault is that? You tried to smite me, you lunatic!"

Remus huffs. "You were trying to climb into bed with me!" He cheeks burn at the thought of it. Humans who are married may share beds, but he refuses to. "Who knows what you might have tried to do!"

Sirius snorts and attempts to sit up. His mind is too clouded by alcohol, and he falls unceremoniously, groaning as he seems to come to terms with the fact that he is stuck on the floor. "Who put a stick up your arse, you prude?" he asks.

Remus' blush darkens, and it feels like his face may burst into flames. "There is nothing up my… my… _bum_!"

"I can change that."

Remus scowls and climbs to his feet. Harry won't wake and demand his bottle for another hour or so, but Remus decides to head to the nursery anyway. It is much more ideal than staying here, listening to the crude demon and his awful words.

He steps over Sirius, resisting the urge to stomp him. "Sleep it off," he says simply. "I'm sure you'll realize what an idiot you are tomorrow."

He doesn't wait for Sirius to respond. He stalks off, closing the door behind him with more force than he intends. The noise is loud, and he isn't surprised when he hears Harry begin to wail. Remus sighs and quickens his pace. "Hang on, Harry," he calls, as though the baby will understand him and put his fit on hold. "I'm coming."

"I've got you," Remus says as he makes his way to the cot. He lifts Harry up, holding him carefully as he sits in the rocking chair and begins to rock. "Do you want your bottle? Goodness. Big man was just trying to get a little sleep in, huh?"

He hears a creak of the floorboards and looks up. Sirius stands in the doorway, watching curiously. The demon sways slightly, no doubt a side effect of the copious amounts of alcohol. Remus chooses to ignore him and focus on Harry instead; he snaps his fingers, and a bottle manifests.

"Here we go. Yummy food for that little tummy," Remus murmurs.

"How do you do that?" Sirius asks. "You just… _know._"

Remus keeps his attention focused on the nursing infant. "I try," he answers. "I've never been around babies in my entire existence, not like this. But I was given a mission, and I have no intention of disappointing my creator. I read books. I interact with Harry." He glances up at the other man now, eyes narrowing slightly. "I make an effort."

He's surprised to see Sirius suddenly look so uncomfortable. Sirius exhales heavily, leaning against the door frame, his weight shifting from foot to foot. "I think I want to try," he says. "Harry needs me too."

Remus scoffs. He thinks that the last thing Harry needs is a demon's influence, but Sirius is part of the great plan. Maybe Remus doesn't understand it, and he probably never will, but he has his orders; there's no way to get away from Sirius without disobeying those orders. He doesn't like the demon, but he's stuck with him. "Come here. I'll show you how to feed him."

This seems like a bad idea. Sirius has been out all night, engaging in undesirable behavior. What if he does something wrong? Is it possible to break the baby? Somehow Remus thinks Sirius would find a way. Still, if he genuinely wants to learn, Remus can't refuse. He is an angel, and it is his duty to guide others along and teach them to better themselves.

Remus climbs to his feet, carefully shifting Harry around in his arms. "Sit."

Sirius does. Remus hesitates before placing the baby in his arms. "There you go," Remus says. "Make sure you keep his head supported."

Sirius looks completely lost. Under ordinary circumstances, it might be funny. Tonight, however, Remus is too exhausted to even smile.

"Why is he so small?" Sirius asks.

"Please don't breathe on him." Remus kneels and helps Sirius guide the nipple of the bottle back into Harry's mouth. "You smell like a bar. The fumes might hurt him."

"You worry too much."

Remus rolls his eyes. "You give me a lot to worry about."

It seems impossible that Sirius should be such a natural at this, but he is. Remus doesn't have to guide him any further. Harry seems comfortable with the demon, and Sirius seems to relax.

"Wow," Sirius marvels as Remus climbs to his feet again. "It's just like this little hellhound pup I had once. Poor dear had to be bottle fed."

Remus raises his brows, surprised. Demons are supposed to be foul, vile creatures without any good or compassion. So why does Sirius seem to soften and transform into something that doesn't seem so evil all of a sudden?

He shakes his head. Thinking like that is dangerous. At the end of the day, Sirius is still a demon. It doesn't matter that they have been united by a common goal; they are still from two completely different realms, and those differences make them bitter enemies. Nothing will ever change that.

"He's done eating," Sirius says. "Do I just… What do I do?"

Remus reaches down and positions Harry so that he can be burped. He takes Sirius' hand.

"If you wanted to hold my hand, you could have just asked."

"Shut up," Remus snaps, guiding his hand so that his palm rests on Harry's back. "Pat until he burps."

"That's disgusting. Babies are gross."

Remus laughs. "Yes. Yes, they are," he agrees.

Sirius looks up at him, his pale skin milky in the moonlight that filters in through the window. He grins. "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before."

"I thought I told you to shut up."

He cannot fall into Sirius' trap, cannot relax. Sirius is still evil, and he will corrupt Harry if Remus isn't careful.

…

In the village of Little Hangleton, thirteen year old Tom Riddle Jr. wakes with a scream. His head aches and burns, and it feels as though his skull may split open. Breathing heavily, he reaches up and wipes away the cold sweat that beads on his forehead.

His door opens, and his mother appears. "Tom? Oh, my Tom," she says, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Nightmares again?"

Tom swallows. Had it been nightmares? He thinks that it might have been, but it had felt so real. "I'm fine, Mother," he says, offering her a shaky smile.

She leans down and kisses his forehead. "Are your sure you don't need anything?"

"Positive."

She hesitates but nods, rising to her feet once again. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He waits until he is alone again before sitting up and retrieving his diary from his bedside table. Over the past year, it has been helpful in chronicling the bizarre disturbances that interrupt his sleep. Page after page is filled with notes and sketches, and everything seems related, but nothing makes sense.

A man's face peers up from one of the pages. He had been in Tom's dreams again, whispering that it's almost time, that he needs to wake up. He appears in Tom's dreams more and more frequently, but he hadn't been the focus tonight.

He doesn't know who the boy had been, but he remembers emerald eyes and messy black hair. As he sketches the boy, Tom shivers. There's something about him that's terrifying. Tom feels like he's either met his greatest ally or his worst enemy; he just isn't sure which.

iii.

"It's not fair!" Harry stomps his foot and folds his arms over his chest.

Remus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knows he needs to calm Harry down quickly; over the last four years, they've had to move six times. One fit from Harry, and half the neighborhood could end up in flames.

"Harry, come now. You're too big to get upset over silly little things," he says, kneeling in front of his son. "Give me a big smile. Come on."

Harry's lips remain pulled downward in a stubborn frown. "I want to go to the Polkiss' pool party," he insists, tears clinging to his lashes.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Remus has seen the way the Polkiss boy and his friends act. They're little more than a gang of bullies. He tries to imagine the fallout if they attempt to harm Harry. Remus doesn't think they'll be able to move far enough to escape that nightmare. In the end, it's best to keep Harry away from that.

"I don't know," Sirius says, fixing himself a cup of coffee. He smirks, and Remus hates him a little bit. "I think it would be good for him."

Remus glares at him. Of course Sirius would encourage something that's likely to end in disaster. A lot has changed over the years, but he is still a complete and utter jerk. He probably hasn't even thought about the stress it could put on Harry. Remus doesn't think their son can handle another heartbreak.

"Daddy, Dad said yes! I won't show my wings! Promise!" To emphasize his point, Harry tucks his black, feathery wings away. "Please, Daddy? Please?"

"How about we go out for ice cream instead?" Remus suggests. "Triple chocolate for my little man?"

Arguing with Harry is a dangerous game. He is still young and not in control of his powers, so his emotions get in the way too easily and can lead to disaster. Remus has learned the hard way that sometimes a distraction is the best option. Luckily, like most human children, the promise of ice cream is good enough.

Harry claps his hands together, squealing as he jumps up and down. "Chocolate!" he agrees. "Chocolate, Daddy! Please!"

Remus ruffles Harry's hair. "Go get some socks on, okay?"

"Okay!" Harry runs off, nearly tripping in his excitement.

Remus can feel the demon staring at him. He turns, and Sirius gives him an amused look. "What?"

Sirius shrugs, blowing on his coffee. "You're no fun," he says. "The pool party would have been fun."

"For whom? You know what those children are like. What if they hurt Harry?"

"Then Harry will hurt them back, Remus. It's not that difficult."

Remus stares at him, incredulous. It's like Sirius really doesn't understand sometimes. Even though he's a demon without morals, something like this should be obvious.

"Did I say something wrong?" Sirius asks, though the smirk that plays at his lips makes it obvious that he doesn't care.

Remus is reminded once again that there's no point. Sirius is never going to change, and he's always going to be this ridiculous monster. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

Sirius opens his mouth to respond, but the soft footsteps are enough to make them put their differences aside. "Ready!" Harry says proudly.

Remus smiles at him. "Almost. Let's get some shoes on those feet."

"'Kay!"

Before Remus can begin his search for Harry's shoes, Sirius steps forward, holding them up. Remus stares at him, confused. "Thank you."

Maybe Sirius has changed a little bit. He still isn't a good person, but he's made a genuine attempt.

"Just going to keep staring at me?" Sirius asks. "Harry needs his shoes."

Remus blushes and clears his throat. He accepts the shoes and pats the nearby chair with his free hand. Harry climbs onto it, sticking his feet out.

Maybe Remus is too hard on Sirius, but it's hard not to be sometimes.

"I would like a triple chocolate ice cream cone too," Sirius tells him. "Just in case you were wondering."

Remus tries to hide it, but he can't fight the smile that tugs at his lips. "Really?" he asks, holding his hand out for Harry to grab onto. "I would have pegged you for a birthday cake type."

Sirius grins. "What can I say? Don't judge a book by its cover."

…

Harry loves these days with his dads. Sometimes they aren't very nice to each other, so when they get along long enough to do fun things, Harry gets excited.

"Run along and play, Harry," his daddy says, affectionately ruffling Harry's hair. "Your dad and I will be right here, okay?"

Harry nods before running off, gripping his half-eaten ice cream cone. He doesn't stop until he reaches the swings. They're his favorite thing to play on because it makes him feel like he can fly.

Harry sits down, wrapping an arm around the chain and kicking back. He doesn't get very high, but it's still fun. He knows that if he kicks hard enough, he will be able to go super high.

He wishes he could let his wings out, but that's against the rules. Just because Harry looks like the other boys and girls, it doesn't mean he _is_ like them. He's dads tell him he's special and destined for great things. Harry thinks that he's just weird, and he's watched enough telly to know that weird is bad.

That's why his dads don't let him play with other kids. They had once, three houses ago. Harry hadn't meant to show Hermione his wings, but he'd been so excited, and they had poked it. She hadn't been scared, but her parents had screamed and called Harry all sorts of bad names. His daddy had hurried him away while his dad screamed bad words right back at the Grangers. After that, Harry hasn't been able to play with anyone else, but he's tried.

He smells the man before he sees him. His dad says it's the demon in him, that he can smell the state of anyone's soul. This man smells like something rotten, but he smiles so warmly at Harry. Maybe he's wrong. Maybe the smell of his ice cream is too strong, and everything else just smells funny in comparison.

"Aren't you just the most angelic little thing?" the man asks, his long blond hair blowing behind him in the breeze. "But that's to expected, isn't it? Angels are the sweetest."

Harry's stomach does something funny, and it hurts but tickles all at once. No one is supposed to know what he is. His dads say it's important that he keeps it a secret.

"Don't worry." His eyes turn black, the way Harry's dad's do. "We can be the best of friends. I have a little spawn your age named Draco."

Harry brightens at that, and he can't keep from smiling. It's like his wishes are coming true. He had thought really hard about wanting a friend, and now he has the chance. "I can play with him?" he asks.

It doesn't bother him that his new playmate will be a demon. He knows demons are supposed to be mean and scary, but maybe that's just his daddy being silly. After all, his dad is nice and would never hurt him.

"Of course! It's nearly lunchtime, so I'm sure Draco can't wait to see you."

Harry jumps down from the swing, nearly falling over upon impact. His ice cream cone somehow remains gripped firmly in his hand. "I gotta tell my dads first."

The man's expression changes. He no longer seems like a nice man. His gnarled black wings emerge from his back, and his fingernails grow, sharpening into claws. "You aren't going anywhere," he snarls. Quick as a flash, he reaches out, grabbing Harry the arm and leaving bruises in his wake. "You're coming with me. It's been so long since my Draco has feasted on an angel."

Before Harry can scream, the demon's free hand clamps over his mouth, silencing him. Harry struggles, but it's no use. His ice cream falls to the ground.

…

Sirius leans back on the bench, watching in amusement as Remus sits on the edge of his seat, craning his neck. The park is empty except for them. Nothing is going to happen. "Has anyone told you that you worry too damn much?" he asks, popping the end piece of his cone into his mouth and moaning softly as the melted ice cream rolls over his tongue.

"You, at least three times a day," Remus answers without sparing Sirius even a brief glance. "It's quiet."

"That's because no one's here," Sirius points out.

Remus doesn't seem to hear him. He climbs to his feet, but Sirius grabs his wrist and pulls him back down. "What are you doing?"

"According to the book I finished last week, the key to a happy marriage is to always make time for your partner. This is our time."

Remus doesn't even smile at that. That's one thing that has remained consistent over time: the angel's face seems more natural whenever he frowns. Sirius wonders if he'll ever figure out a way to change that, or if he's doomed to remain with a humorless man for the rest of his existence–or, at the very least, until their son is old enough to be on his own.

"We don't even like each other," Remus reminds him. "Why would we try to have a happy marriage?"

Sirius' smile fades at that. Pouting slightly, he folds his arms over his chest and rests his head against the back of the bench. "Really? And here I thought you liked me."

"I tolerate you," Remus says, "because it's my job."

Sirius winces. It shouldn't hurt him so much, but it does. He doesn't get a chance to voice his irritation, though. There's a strange shift in the atmosphere, like the air has been filled with electricity. He and Remus are on their feet in seconds.

"Harry!" Remus calls.

"Harry!" Sirius echoes.

All previous signs of teasing and joking are gone. Sirius is tense as he sniffs the air. Harry's scent is faint, and panic floods his body as he quickens his pace, sniffing frantically. "Harry! Where are you?"

As if in answer, there's a sound like an explosion, and Sirius sees the first flash of bright white light. He closes his eyes, shielding them with his arms for good measure. He has battled with angels too many times, and he is well aware of their ability to summon the wrath of heaven in the form of a light too powerful to be seen by anything other than another angel. Even from here, he can feel the faint heat.

Moments later, he feels a hand on his shoulder. "The light is gone," Remus says before hurrying away.

Sirius opens his eyes, following behind the angel. A sense of dread washes over him. If anything has happened to Harry, he will destroy this whole fucking world, piece by piece, and he doesn't think Albus Dumbledore himself will be able to stop him.

"Harry?" Remus calls again.

"Daddy?"

Sirius almost collapses in relief, but he forces himself to keep going. There will be plenty of time for that later. For now, all he cares about is reaching his son.

"Sirius, I found him!"

Sirius follows Remus' voice, frowning. As he realizes he's heading into the woods that line the border of the park. He is familiar with this area. Deep in the woods, there is a portal that allows demons to pass through with ease. Some foolish mortals had failed to properly close it.

"I didn't mean to, Daddy." Harry clings to Remus' legs, wiping his runny nose on Remus' trousers. "I didn't mean to kill him!"

Sirius' insides turn to ice as he approaches. When he gets closer, he sees the fallen demon on the ground, and he recognizes him. "Lucius," he says. "One of the crowned princes of hell."

"I didn't mean to!" Harry says again.

But that isn't what makes Sirius feel uncomfortable. All young, empowered creatures have trouble controlling their gifts. Accidents are bound to happen. The disturbing part is that a small child has managed to kill one of the most ancient and most powerful demons that Hell has to offer.

He remembers the concerns before, the question of what Harry would grow to be. At the time, Sirius had laughed it off. Harry had just been an infant and so very harmless. Now, he realizes that the powers that be may have had a good reason for concern.

Still, he can't bring himself to be upset with Harry. If anything, he's proud. He kneels and reaches out, guiding Harry over. As the boy moves closer, Sirius notices the vibrant bruises and scratches on his arm, and he sees red. Lucius had better be glad Harry had been the one to deal with him; Sirius would not have been so merciful.

"I'm sorry, Dad." Harry sniffles and wipes tears from his eyes. "D-did you know him?"

"Don't worry, kiddo. He was a dick."

"Language!" Remus hisses.

Sirius offers Remus an apologetic smile before focusing on Harry once again. "Excuse me. He was a penis."

"Sirius!"

Remus doesn't sound as annoyed as he usually does. Sirius takes that as a good sign, at least. He climbs to his feet and picks Harry up, holding him close. "Come on," he says, his free hand finding Remus'. "Let's go home."

He doesn't know why he takes Remus by the hand, but the angel doesn't pull away. He gives Sirius' hand a reassuring squeeze and leans in, pressing a kiss to Sirius' cheek.

"Is it just because you're relieved, or are you actually fond of me?"

Judging by the way Remus' cheeks flush a deep pink and he suddenly has trouble meeting Sirius' eye, Sirius guesses the latter. "Shut up."

…

Albus' eyes open, a frown tugging at his lips. Kingsley, one of his most trusted archangels looks up at him, concern in his dark eyes. Albus wonders if he has seen it too, if he is just as baffled.

"What does this mean?" the archangel asks, confirming Albus' suspicions.

"I'm not sure."

They had been curious about the boy in those early days, but, for the most part, Albus had almost lost interest in him. Aside from the occasional outburst of power–nothing unusual for a fledgling–Harry, as Remus calls him, has been quite normal. Now, he isn't so sure. That sort of strength is rarely seen among common angels. Archangels can easily slay the high-ranking demons like Lucius, but not regular angels. Though she had been a fierce warrior, Lily had been just that–a regular angel, common and unimpressive.

How could Harry manifest that sort of power? Is it the demon blood in him? Is there some great mystery to the fallen demon who had fathered the boy?

"Albus?"

He raises a hand, and Kingsley falls silent. "Leave me."

With a flutter of his fiery wings, Kingsley disappears, and Albus is alone again. He sighs. His mind is already cluttered with all the things happening in the world, and his mind is filled with whispers as prayers reach him. The last thing he needs is something else to consume his time and energy.

He begins to pace, rubbing his temples. Gellert had known; there's no doubt in Albus' mind now. The fallen angel and ruler of Hell had been a little too excited about Harry's existence and the prophecy attached to his birth. If Albus hadn't insisted that an angel guard the boy as well, Gellert might have taken advantage of the situation.

With a heavy sigh, Albus waves a hand. The room shifts around him until he is standing upon a raised dais, staring down at the chessboard the represents the end of days. Things are covered in shadow, and he cannot yet see the other side, but he can feel it. There's a change in the air that does not bode well with him.

"Oh, Gellert," he says, closing his eyes. "What are you planning?"

…

Harry doesn't protest when Remus sends him to his room for a nap. The poor kid must be exhausted. The sort of power he had used… Remus can barely manage anything close to it. How had Harry?

He shakes his head. Though it bothers him, he can't bring himself to think about it yet. Not when…

Sirius peeks out from Remus' bedroom. "You coming?" He smirks. "Well, I know you aren't _now, _but you will be soon enough."

Heat floods Remus' cheeks, but he smiles. "Yeah," he says. "Just a sec."

They've been married for years, but he's avoided getting too close to Sirius. Now, he doesn't care about caution. Maybe something has been slowly changing between them over the years, and the incident at the park has just sped things up. Whatever it is, Remus doesn't care. Things are different now, and he thinks he's ready to embrace it.

…

In Little Hangleton, Merope Riddle watches on as her son seems to lose himself in drawing. Tom has always been a strange boy, though it seems to worsen as the years go by. He's becoming more and more withdrawn.

"Tom?"

He keeps his eyes fixed upon the page. His hand moves with strange vigor, sketching something that Merope cannot quite make out. She moves closer, frowning.

"Tom, sweetie?"

The doctors say there's nothing wrong him. As far as anyone can tell, he's just dealing with normal mood changes that come with being sixteen. Merope isn't quite sure she believes that. She knows her son, and this isn't him.

"What are you drawing?"

The spell seems to break. He snaps his head up, and the diary and pen fall to the floor. Frowning, Merope kneels and picks it up.

"What is this?" she asks, studying the skull and serpent design that's repeated over and over again. It looks like a logo, but it isn't for anything that Merope recognizes.

"He told me to draw it," Tom says. "He said it's important."

"Who did?"

In place of an answer, Tom falls to the floor, eyes rolling back into his head.

iv.

"Again!" Sirius instructs.

Harry's wings fold neatly behind him as he lunges, blade gripped tightly in his hand. He's gotten faster, and his movements are more fluid now and less awkward, but he still isn't quite ready. Sirius easily knocks the blade from his hand with a little too much force. Harry cries out and pulls back, rubbing his hand.

"There won't be a chance to pause in battle," he says, though he keeps his tone gentle enough that Harry will know he isn't upset with him. "What do you do when you're disarmed?"

Harry adjusts his glasses, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Er…"

Sirius sighs. He moves closer and gently prods his son's chest. "For one thing, you don't hesitate. You _fight. _You use your body to your advantage. Can you fade yet?"

Harry's cheeks flush an embarrassed pink. He drops his gaze to the floor, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "Not yet."

Without another word, Sirius forces his being to become weightless. His mind reaches out, touching all the shadows in the room and absorbing their energy. It takes less than a second, and he disappears from sight, instantly appearing behind Harry. The halfling doesn't have a chance to react before Sirius gets him in a chokehold. "Use your body to your advantage," he repeats. "Understood?"

Harry begins to tap his palms against Sirius' forearm. Sirius releases his grip.

"Please do not murder our kid on his birthday," Remus says dryly, folding his arms over his chest. "If you two are done, it's time for breakfast."

"Thanks, Papa!" Harry says brightly.

Sirius notices the way Remus' smile fades ever so slightly. As Harry's gotten older, he's called Remus "Daddy" less and less. Sirius doesn't know why Remus is so fixated on the term, but he doesn't question it.

Harry runs past Remus, eager to get out of the training room so he can eat his traditional chocolate chip birthday pancakes. Sirius follows behind him but stops when he reaches Remus. He holds the angel close, gently stroking the spot between his shoulder blades that houses his wings.

"Thirteen," Sirius sighs, chuckling softly. "Too damn young to have a teenager. I'm only a hundred years old."

"That _is _young," Remus says.

"How old are you exactly?"

"I was created just before the Great Flood."

Sirius pulls back, eyes widening. He grins and affectionately pushes his fingers through his husband's hair. "No wonder you're so boring," he teases, pressing a kiss to Remus' nose. "You're old as shit."

"Oi! Watch it!"

"Dad! Papa!" Harry calls from the kitchen. "Come on! Breakfast is getting cold!"

Sirius wraps his arm around Remus, and they make their way to the kitchen. Harry has already fixed his plate–a stack of ten pancakes, drizzled with chocolate syrup and topped with a large glob of whipped cream; Sirius remembers being a young demon and having such a big appetite that could never quite be satisfied until he began his work with souls–and Sirius is surprised he hasn't already dug in.

"I hope you saved some for us," Sirius laughs. He begins to stack his usual three pancakes on his own plate. "Why do you look so sweet?"

Remus fixes his plate and covers most of the pancakes with an outrageous amount of chocolate syrup. Sirius will never understand it. The angel has rejected almost every earthly pleasure that mankind has to offer, but he thinks Remus might sell his soul–or, rather, his grace–for the chance to have all the chocolate in the world.

"You're right," Remus says, lips pursing as he studies their son's face. "That's the same face you make when you offer to wash dishes and take out the trash…"

"Which means you're going to ask for something." Sirius leans back in his chair, grinning. "Once we finish with physical combat training, I promise I will teach you to manipulate people."

"Sirius!"

"Works on your papa every time."

"Sirius!"

Remus glares at him, but Harry laughs. Good. At least their teenager still knows that Sirius is the cool parent.

"Seriously, what's up?" Sirius presses, curious now. Harry only ever tries to sweet his way into things whenever it's something major.

"Deatheater has a concert tonight," Harry explains. "It's a free show to showcase their new vocalist before they go on tour."

"I don't like the name." Remus frowns and taps his fingers against the table. "Why would anyone want to be called Deatheater?"

"You wouldn't understand," Sirius says, smirking. "You're not punk rock enough."

"Deatheater isn't punk rock, Dad," Harry says impatiently. "Not everything is punk rock."

Sirius huffs indignantly. "Well, it should be." He spears a bit of pancake with more force than actually necessary.

"They're a metal band," Harry explains. "Surprisingly popular, now that Tom has joined. They've even been on mainstream media."

Remus doesn't looks happy about that. "I don't like metal," he says, ignoring his pancake entirely and spooning chocolate syrup into his mouth. "It's so Satanic."

"Really?" Sirius drops his fork, brows raising at this comment. "You really want to talk about Satanic? I am literally a demon."

Remus clears his throat, and his cheeks glow pink. He's silent for several moments, occupying himself with cutting his pancakes into ridiculously small pieces. "So, you listen to metal now?"

Harry's brows knit together in confusion. He shrugs. "Yeah. I guess so. They released some singles with Tom, and… I dunno. Guess I'm hooked now."

"Well, if your dad doesn't care, I don't think we have any plans for the night," Remus says. "Might be a fun family outing."

Their son looks away, blushing deeply. He brushes his hand through his messy hair. "It… I promise, it's nothing to do with you." Harry turns his attention back to them, but he can't maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds. "I'm just… Well, no one wants to go to a major concert like this with their parents."

"I see," Remus says softly.

Sirius understands, of course. It's been so long, but Sirius can still remember being Harry's age and the embarrassment that came with it. The fact that Harry is so different from the others around him can't make things easy.

Remus, on the other hand, looks hurt. His bright eyes are just a little duller, and his smile is so much smaller. Sirius knows him too well; he's going to keep his head held high and act like it isn't a problem. Hell, he may even convince himself as much. Still, Sirius knows it's tearing him apart inside.

"I'm not sure that I would feel comfortable letting you go to this concert alone," Remus says.

"But, Papa!"

"He's right." Sirius winces when he says it. He's supposed to be the cool parent, and cool parents are definitely not supposed to agree with the uncool parent. Sirius makes a mental note to get his head examined to make sure he isn't just losing his mind.

"Dad! Come on!" Harry seems just as shocked to hear Sirius in favor of logic. "It's my birthday. I _have _to go!"

"I never said you couldn't go. Just that you can't go on your own," Sirius says. "Don't worry! Your papa and I can stay home and watch movies all night. I have the perfect chaperone."

Remus' brows raise. Though he doesn't say anything, Sirius can sense the unspoken question in the air as the angel folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes. _What are you up to? Since when did you have friends?_

"My brother happens to love the original Deatheater lineup. I'm sure he wouldn't mind checking out the new sound."

…

Kingsley feels out of place in the Hog's Head. Even though the venue is currently closed so that the band can set up, it just feels _off. _As an archangel, Kingsley has been around for a long time–almost as long as Albus, but not quite. He knows what evil feels like; during his time between the earth and the heavens, he has encountered more than his fair share of it.

"It doesn't smell like sulfur," the angel Tonks says, tugging anxiously at her bubblegum pink spiked hair. "But… it feels wrong, doesn't it?"

Kingsley nods. "I don't like it."

He doesn't know why Albus has chosen this place, but Kingsley knows not to question his maker. In the end, Albus always has a plan. Just because Kingsley can't guess what it might be, doesn't mean it isn't there.

There's something about the new frontman. Kingsley has kept an eye on any news about him, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. Tom Riddle had been a strange teenager who had grown into a strange adult. Now he fronts a metal band that is infamous for its Satanic imagery. The only thing that seems to stick out is that Tom is so charming. He seems like he should be a politician, not a rockstar.

As if conjured by Kingsley's thoughts, Tom Riddle appears, folding his thin arms over his chest. "Show doesn't start for another six hours," he says, stepping closer.

Tonks stands straight, her body tense. Kingsley reaches out and lightly grips her shoulder, silently reminding him that they do not have orders to kill.

"Sorry," Kingsley says, offering the young man a smile. "My girlfriend is a huge fan. We just had to sneak in."

Tom studies Tonks for several moments. The air is tense, and Kingsley tries to reach out to Albus, but it feels like something is blocking him. Inside his body, his wings ache, sensing danger.

"This is a godless place," Tom says. "Not a place for an angel. Not even a place for an archangel."

Before Kingsley can even react, Tom strikes. Kingsley has never seen anything like it before. One moment, Tonks is standing and offering her best smile. The next, she is gone, and white ash falls to the ground where she had been standing. Tom turns his attention to Kingsley, and the archangel finds himself paralyzed. Tom moves closer, grinning. "I have a message for your master," he says.

…

"How come you never told me about your brother?" Remus asks.

Harry and Regulus have been gone for half an hour, and Remus has resisted the question. He can't anymore. Curiosity gets the best of him.

Sirius sighs, stretching out on the couch and letting his wings unfold. "Popcorn sounds lovely. Extra butter, please?

Remus sighs and shakes his head. He leans against the door frame, frowning. "You know you can't just ignore me, right? Avoiding the question won't change anything."

Sirius hates talking about his past. Remus can't imagine what it must be like; unlike Sirius, he had never been a mortal human.

He closes the distance between them and sits on the couch, gently caressing Sirius' wings. As expected, Sirius relaxes and breathes in deeply, his body going slack. He groans and glares and Remus. "Not fair when you do that."

"Not fair when you avoid the question."

Silence. Sirius shifts, leaning forward so that his elbows rest on his thighs and his hair obscures his face. Remus has never seen him look so serious before, and it makes him nervous. He wonders if, perhaps, he shouldn't have pressed, if he should have just let Sirius keep his past behind him.

The demon sighs and continues to look away from Remus. "When he was nine, my brother sold his soul."

Remus blinks, trying to comprehend this. Even though demons have rather loose morals, he can't imagine one actually making a deal with a child. Children shouldn't even know about such things. Would demons accept a soul in exchange for the newest, shiniest toy?

"What did he trade it for?" Remus asks, though he isn't sure he wants to know.

"The demon gave him ten years," Sirius explains. "Ten years…"

"For what?"

He knows this tactic. Sirius thinks that if he circles back enough, he will be able to distract Remus, but Remus won't let him. This is the most Sirius has opened up in over a decade. Remus wants to finally learn about the man he's grown to love.

"In exchange for the abuse to stop." Sirius looks up, pain clear in his grey eyes. "They didn't hurt him. My parents _loved _my brother. He wanted them to stop beating me. I didn't find out until after the accident. Both of our parents died a month later. Regulus cried and blamed himself."

Remus doesn't know what he had expected, but it isn't this. He sits in silence, wringing his hands together, unsure of what to say. There don't seem to be any words that can express the things he feels, and all he can do is rest his head against his husband's arm and hold his hand.

"I didn't sell mine," Sirius adds. "My soul was damned the day Regulus died. I made sure of that."

Sirius adjusts his position and leans in, pressing a kiss to Remus' forehead. "I ruined our date night, didn't I?"

He looks so worried that Remus can't help but hold him close. "No," he says softly before leaving a trail of kisses from his cheek to his lips. "Not at all."

The story _has _changed the atmosphere, and Remus can feel the tension in the air now. It doesn't matter. These moments alone with Sirius are too rare. Remus refuses to let anything spoil the evening.

"Keep kissing me like that," Sirius murmurs, fingers tangling in Remus' hair, "and we might have to skip the movie and go straight to bed."

Remus frowns in confusion. "Not like you to go to sleep this early," he notes. "It's only eight."

Sirius chuckles and pulls Remus closer. It's amazing how his touch still makes Remus shiver with delight and anticipation. He knows that humans seem to struggle to maintain their relationships. Divorces happen, and couples often split before marriage. They say the passion goes out, but he doesn't understand. If anything, his love for Sirius has only grown. Those little touches make him feel like he's at home and everything is fine.

"You are still so innocent," Sirius murmurs, nibbling Remus' ear. "I love it." He kisses Remus hard. "I love you."

…

Regulus can't quite put his finger on it. The Hog's Head, in and of itself, is not a terrible place. Tonight, however, it just feels wrong, like evil oozes from every crack.

"I want a shirt," Harry calls over the furious pounding of the drums onstage.

Regulus nods and follows his nephew over to the merch booth. There, things only seem to get worse.

He knows that emblem. The skull with a snake protruding from from its mouth, ready to strike. Harry digs in his pocket, but Regulus catches him by the arm before he can reach it.

"As a demon, I probably shouldn't discourage you," he says, "but you can't take the mark."

"It's a shirt…"

Regulus swallows dryly, shaking his head. He had always wondered how this would work, how so many people would readily accept a symbol. Now, he knows.

"It's called the Dark Mark," Harry tells him. "It's their new logo, and it's cool."

"Too cool."

The Mark of the Beast has found its way to spread across the world. Even people who ordinarily wouldn't care for a metal band seem to adore Tom Riddle. It's only a matter of time before the Dark Mark can be found in almost every home.

"Something wrong?" Harry asks.

Every demon is told to prepare for this day, but Regulus hadn't thought it would come so soon. He breaks out in a cold sweat but forces himself to keep his features composed. He offers Harry a smile. "Everything is fine."

The end of the world is upon them, and he is afraid.

…

"I hope they're having fun," Remus says as he and Sirius lay in bed together.

Sirius smiles, keeping his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. He reaches out, ghosting his fingers over his lover's bare chest. "It's funny, isn't it? Our kid is out with a demon, and you're not panicking."

"You trust him, so I trust him."

That only makes him laugh. Not too long ago, Remus would have never even allowed Sirius to be alone with Harry, so afraid that too much demonic influence would corrupt him. Now, things are changing, and he thinks it's for the better.

Sirius wiggles over and rests his head against Remus' chest. "We should get Regulus to chaperone more often," he murmurs. "We don't get enough alone time."

Remus snuggles closer, and Sirius closes his eyes. His time as a demon has always seemed to be split into two extremes: the pain and torture of Hell, or the bliss that comes with the earth's dangerous little pleasures. This feeling he gets from Remus is something else entirely. For one sweet, beautiful moment, things are gentle, and he can breathe freely without feeling like he's going to break.

One day, this will end. He knows that they both have their parts to play, and this will all be taken from him. Still, he can hold on for a little while longer and cherish each every second he has with his favorite angel.

"I love you."

…

Albus paces anxiously. "You're sure?" he demands. "You're absolutely sure that's what he said?"

Kingsley nods. He's always been the most competent of the heavenly host, and Albus can't see him making a careless mistake now. It has to be true, and that does not bode well with him at all.

He comes to a stop and lets out a heavy, frustrated sigh. Without bothering to dismiss the archangel, he waves his hand and changes the room. The chessboard is still covered in shadows, but the darkness is not so complete anymore. Albus can just barely make out a shape on the opposing side. It feels as though someone has stabbed him in the gut and twisted the blade.

"It can't be," he whispers.

"He's a type of evil I've never faced before," Kingsley says, and the quiver in his deep, steady voice only makes things feel more dire. "And the way he killed Tonks… I have no doubt in my mind that I have just met the antichrist."

Albus is silent as he studies the board. It's too soon. The seals have not yet been broken. Can Gellert really take it upon himself to begin the apocalypse? There should have been some sort of warning.

And what of the boy? Harry is not yet ready. He has so much potential to be Albus' perfect weapon to aid in the fight against this fearsome foe.

"Newt!" he calls. "Newt, where are you?"

…

Tom watches as the pieces fall into place. The band's merch is flying off the shelves, and the Dark Mark is everywhere. This should be enough. More and more people are branding themselves, and it's only a matter of time before enough people have taken the Mark of the Beast.

"Do we really need the brat?" he asks.

He had sensed the boy at the show tonight. It's good. Even though their paths have not yet crossed, Tom has some sort of sway over him. Still, it seems ridiculous that he actually _needs _him. Sure, the boy _could _make a good ally, but that isn't a good enough reason.

Tom is ready for the endgame. All these traps have been set, and he is itching for things to really move.

"You need to learn patience," Gellert says, preparing himself a drink. He sips the alcohol and sighs, seemingly content. "We already have a massive head start over Heaven."

Tom scowls. "Patience is for the weak."

He knows it is not his place to question his master, but that doesn't stop him. Tom is one of the most important players in this game, and he deserves something more than just sitting around, waiting for something to happen.

"The prophecy says–"

"I don't give a damn–" Tom slams his fist on the table. "–what the prophecy says!"

Maybe he should care. This has been in place since before his birth. Still, it's so easy to be resentful. He is meant to be a symbol as the world ends. What good will it do if nothing actually happens.

"All in good time, dear boy." Gellert finished his drink and tosses the glass carelessly aside, letting it shatter against the tile floor. "You will be more important than you can even begin to comprehend, but if you can't wait, I will destroy you myself."

"You wouldn't."

He's the antichrist, not some low-level demon like the other members of the band. Tom has an important role to play, and he is far too valuable to be destroyed. It's such an easy bluff to call.

Gellert smirks. "Do you really believe you are the only one who can play this part?" he asks. "I chose you, and I can easily choose someone else." He pats Tom's cheek. "Keep that in mind, won't you?"

…

Harry wakes, a scream stuck in his throat. He groans and sits up, rubbing his forehead.

"Just a nightmare," he tells himself.

But it doesn't feel like a nightmare. In his dreams, Tom Riddle had been there; another older man had stood by his side. They had whispered to him, telling him that he has to join them, that the fate of the world depends on it.

He lays down once again, but he is wide awake now. His eyes remain wide and fixed upon the ceiling as he tries to process the rest of the dream. It's all a blur now, but it feels important, like he _needs_ to remember.

He has a choice to make; that's one of the few things he knows for sure, though he isn't sure _why _he knows it. It hadn't been part of his dream. Then again, it's a feeling he's had his whole life. Being the chosen one is a cliche for works of fiction, but it's the only way to describe it.

He scrubs his palms over his face, groaning. Maybe everything will make sense in the morning. He doesn't feel particularly optimistic, but he has to hope.

v.

Newt Scamander hates this. The world has changed so much since he had walked it last, but it shouldn't be ready for this type of change.

He stands before the seal, and his hand trembles. "Come," he says, and the word causes the heavens to rumble like thunder.

The seal breaks, and a rider on a white horse comes out. He is sickly thin, and his skin is far too pale to be healthy. "My time has come," he says, and his chapped lips twist into a grotesque smile that causes the skin the crack and break.

And then he is gone. Newt drops to his knees and lets out a heavy sigh. "Oh dear," he says. "What have I done?"

It has to happen, for it has been written. Even someone like Newt cannot escape fate.

Pestilence must ride; the end must begin.

…

Rabastan is free at last. The world, of course, knows sickness. Disease has been around almost as long as mankind itself.

Still, it has never seen anything like this before. He can feel each and every deadly disease and illness in the air, and he takes a deep breath, savoring the bittersweet of plague on his tongue.

What should he do first? He has been locked away for far too long, and he is ready to play. His eyes close, and he lifts his arms, grinning to himself.

The illness will start out simple enough. Cough, fever, runny nose. It will be so easy to ignore, to overlook as little more than the common cold. Humanity will be comfortable in their false security as the illness will spread and spread until it has reached its quota. And then…

Rabastan throws his head back and laughs. These fools believe that medicine can truly save them in the end. They will cling to their precious advancements and their hygiene methods, but they can never escape him.

His horse picks up speed, and Rabastan begins to sow the seeds of plague.

…

"Very good, Harry," Remus praises as he examines the newly-healed wound on Sirius arm. "The scar tissue will remain for a few days, but then it will be like nothing ever happened."

"Okay. He can heal." Sirius sits up, stretching. "Can we please stop stabbing me now? It really does hurt."

"Sure. For now." Remus grins.

Sirius doesn't look amused. It isn't Remus' fault that he makes the perfect practice dummy. As a demon, he doesn't run the risk of bleeding or or contracting an infection. Besides, Remus can't exactly volunteer; he has to be the one to show Harry how it's done.

"You owe me ice cream for my pain and suffering," Sirius huffs.

Harry nods, smiling broadly. "Yeah!" he agrees. "I've been working so hard, Papa."

Remus considers. After a moment, he shrugs. "We'll have to settle for store-bought," he says. "I saw in the news that Mr. Fortescue had to close shop for a bit. Apparently his whole staff has come down with some sort of virus."

"Seems like half the town is out sick," Sirius notes.

He's right. Remus has gotten into the habit of watching the news, and, for the past week or so, all they've talked about is a virus that seems to be spreading like wildfire. It isn't just their city, either. Reports of the virus are coming in all across the world. Still, it doesn't seem too bad. From what Remus can gather, it's like a cold but more unpleasant.

"Come on. Ice cream and pizza for lunch," Remus says.

At least they're immune to human illnesses. Regardless of how many infected people they come into contact with, they will be perfectly fine.

…

Gellert sits on his throne, legs propped up and crossed. His long, slender fingers are laced beneath his chin, and a small laugh bubbles from his throat. "Well played, Albus," he says. "Well played."

So, his old foe has found out about Tom? Gellert shouldn't be surprised; the antichrist is about as subtle as a brick in the face. If the world doesn't finally end this time, Gellert will have to choose a more modest vessel for his champion.

Things are finally moving along, and he feels a flutter of excitement tickle his insides. The first seal is broken, and Pestilence is free! He's practically giddy just thinking about it.

Still, he can't celebrate just yet. Sirius and the angel still have the boy, and the halfling still has not chosen a side. He wonders if there's a way to take the boy himself. Sirius should have never been trusted with this assignment; of course he would he the one to fall in love with a bloody angel.

Gellert sighs and waves his hand. Flames rise up before him, slowly taking the shape of the scene playing out above him in the surface world. The happy little family of three is out and about, despite the illness that's going around.

Another wave of his hand, and the flames die down. With a growl, Gellert leans forward, anxiously tapping his foot. As tempting as it is to take matters into his own hands, he has to trust his agent. Only a month ago, he had told Tom he needed to learn patience.

Gellert pushes a hand through his fair hair again and again, completely antsy and needing to do something, anything to keep from screaming.

All will happen as it should. The boy is not actually necessary–little more than a happy, little bonus gift that Gellert wouldn't mind claiming because he loves having an advantage over Albus and his host–and the apocalypse will still continue.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. Plague will spread, and with it will come fear. He closes his eyes and reaches out in the darkness until he can feel Tom's mind.

_You're needed._

…

Rabastan rides, unseen, through the night sky, his long, dark hair flying wildly in the wind. His sickness has spread nicely. Millions are showing the first harmless symptoms. "Just a cold," he says mockingly, laughing. "Just drink your fluids and take your precious vitamins."

He reaches out, searching for the first infected location, London. It's easy to feel his mark on the large city. Most of the population is bedridden, desperately trying to ride out their symptoms.

"I would say I'm sorry for this," Rabastan says, his hands moving, mimicking a chef tossing ingredients into a bowl and stirring, "but I'm not. I'm just doing my job."

Satisfied that everything is as it should be, he begins to spread the second stage of symptoms.

…

"Severus Snape, a controversial professor at the Royal College of Physicians, is dead," the reporter states grimly. "Professor Snape had been one of the first in London to report symptoms of the so-called Super Cold."

Tom watches, completely unaffected by the news. Gellert had told him that it's officially happening, that Tom's strong presence has marked the beginning of the end. The four horsemen will ride, one by one, and then the souls of the martyrs will beg the great Newt Scamander for vengeance.

He doesn't know much about the end. His mother had been devout, and he's certain she would have read the book of Revelations. Tom, however, had always been plagued with anxiety when he would try. As a kid, he had assumed it had just been the heaviness of the material, but now he knows it's because of who and what he is.

_You're needed, _Gellert's message had said. _The people trust you. They will follow, and they will fall._

He takes a sip of his tea and closes his eyes. A faint smile plays at his lips. The world is falling apart, and he will be their beacon in their times of trouble.

"What fools," he says with a soft laugh. "What stupid little fools."

They will trust him, and they will damn themselves. All he has to do is sit back and wait.

…

"So much for just being a cold," Sirius says, turning off the telly.

He's grateful for his immunity to human illnesses. This mysterious virus seems beyond miserable. The innocent cold-like symptoms have shifted. Runny noses and coughs have turned into infections, which have lead to respiratory failure. Rashes have developed, but they don't stay rashes for long. He's heard reports of cysts and lesions that have overtaken rash-covered areas after a few days. They're saying some have even developed a rapidly-spreading necrosis. Over the past week, the death toll has jumped from zero to over a thousand.

Remus nods, his handsome features contorted with sadness. "This is the cycle of the world," he says with a sigh before leaning against Sirius and pressing a soft kiss to his neck. "I was actually watching the news, you know."

Sirius rolls his eyes. Of course he was. He doesn't understand why someone as good and kind as Remus would actively choose to witness all the pain and suffering of the world. He can heal and work small miracles, but does he honestly believe he can save everyone and fix every bad thing?

Sirius smiles and holds his husband close. Maybe that's why he loves Remus so much; no matter how broken the world is, Remus still clings to hope and continues to believe in mankind. Sirius wonders what it must be like to have that sort of faith.

"I was thinking," Sirius says, reaching up and gently stroking the angel's hair, "that since Harry is already in bed, maybe…"

Remus pulls back and stares at him with raised brows. The soft glow of his cheeks is too precious. Despite all their time together, he still seems so scandalized by the prospect of intimacy. Sirius wonders if all angels are like that, or if Remus is just a special kind of modest.

"We just did that this morning," Remus says, lips pursing.

Sirius snorts and rolls his eyes. He climbs to his feet and takes Remus gently by the hand, guiding him from the couch. "Yes, well, it's quite fun," he says. "And you should have fun as often as possible."

"That sounds like a demon's philosophy…"

With a laugh, Sirius wraps his arm around him. "Well?"

Remus' blush darkens. It should be illegal to look so cute. "I would love to."

vi.

Months pass, and Pestilence seems to finish his run. Newt stares down at the earth, frowning to himself. This had been his father's finest creation, and his heart feels so heavy with realization of what will come next.

Slowly but surely, he will break the seals, and this world will end. It should be a time to rejoice, but it is still such a great tragedy.

"I am so, so, so sorry," he says.

Humans, as a whole, aren't bad. While there's always bound to be a few bad ones in every species, it doesn't reflect on all of mankind. Really, of all his father's creatures, humans have always been the most misunderstood lot imaginable. He had tried his hardest to teach them that there's a better way, that they can do so much more with themselves than they seem to realize. He only hopes his message had been worth something.

He stands before the second seal and raises his hand. It splits, and the next rider comes out. She sits atop her red horse with a wicked smile upon her lips and fiendish glee in her dark eyes.

"Go forth," Newt tells her.

With a laugh, War rides off into the night, her wild curls flying behind her in the wind. Newt watches her go, sighing heavily. Pestilence had been bad enough. Now, not only will more humans die, but the precious earth itself will begin to suffer.

It is all part of the bigger plan. Once the destruction and devastation have ended, it will all have been worth it.

…

Bellatrix breathes, cackling. This world is so full of rage. Tensions are so high, and it would take just the smallest touch to make any illusions of peace shatter into thousands of irreparable pieces.

War has been on the horizon for so long, and so many civilizations are waiting for the one unforgivable blow to plunge them all into war. Soon, blood would flow, and foes would battle.

"I know exactly where to begin," she says to herself, and her fearsome red steed follows her will, leading her to a great white house in one of the world's most powerful countries.

…

"The rest of the world sits back in stunned silence today as news comes in that the United States have declared war on the Middle East," the reporter announces.

"War?" Remus frowns, setting his fork down and focusing fully on the news.

"Do we really have to listen to this first thing in the morning?" Sirius asks, somehow unfazed by the news. "It's such a depressing way to start the day."

Remus waves Sirius away when tries to grab the remote. Maybe it _is _depressing, but Remus can't bring himself to look away from it. As an angel, his first instinct is to run into the worst of it and find a way to help and heal. For the first time in a long time, he resents Albus for keeping him here, bound to this spot. Of course, he wouldn't change it for the world; Harry is precious to him, and Sirius is amazing. Sitting here just feels wrong, though, and his wings begin to itch, begging to be released so that he can perform his angelic duties.

"It's going to get worse," Harry says quietly.

"What do you mean?" Remus asks.

"See?" Sirius gestures accusingly at the telly. "The news is fucking with his head."

"Harry? What do you mean by that?" Remus prompts, pointedly ignoring Sirius.

"First the plague," Harry answers. "Now the war."

Remus starts to ask for further explanation, but something clicks. _Plague, war, famine, death. _He swallows dryly. "Harry, go upstairs," he says, his throat tightening as realization sets in.

All heavenly host know about the apocalypse. Slowly but surely, wicked will be wiped from the earth, and goodness will be reborn. Remus can hardly believe he's actually here for it. Somehow, it's always seemed like a lifetime away.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Sirius says as news of a missile strike on China breaks on the telly.

"Something like that," Remus answers. He wants to smile, to try and at least look reassuring, but even he can tell how forced it would be. "It's the end of the world."

Sirius snorts, lips twitching into a faint smile. "Now you just sound like a drama queen," he teases. "Wars happen. Mankind has been trying to tear itself apart since the beginning, right?"

"Not like this."

…

Albus reaches out again, touching Harry's mind. He thinks that maybe he's getting closer to breaking through. Harry doesn't quite resist his message anymore.

"Make the choice," Albus whispers. "Fight by our side, Harry."

Remus had been the perfect angel for the job. Albus can feel his heavenly mark upon the boy, so much stronger than the demon's influence.

"It's only going to get worse. You know that," he continues. "But you can help. You can save them. My boy, you are the chosen one."

Kingsley remains by his side. As the days go by, and they get closer to the final days, his most faithful archangel remains steadfast. Some of the heavenly host do not have the same faith. Some have opted to tear their grace from their beings and fall. Not Kingsley. He's always been a good soldier.

"What happens if he doesn't choose our side?" Kingsley asks.

Albus frowns. Even he cannot say. There is a book that's popular among mankind, and they seem to think they have all the answers. The truth, however, is not so simple. There have been many prophets, and each have had their own predictions about the end of days. No one knows what the final outcome will be.

He wants to laugh and say that Harry isn't necessary. It would be so easy dismiss. After all, good is always meant to triumph over evil. But he can't. Life is filled with far too many unknowns, and it is absolutely maddening.

With a sigh, he slumps forward. "I wish I could tell you."

"We need him," Kingsley says, frowning.

"We need him," Albus confirms. "I'm not sure that we can win without him."

…

It doesn't take long for the war to escalate. It spreads and spreads until every continent is at war.

Sirius holds onto Remus as they hear an explosion in the distance. Anger boils his blood, and it takes everything not to lash out. This isn't what he had signed up for. Maybe the apocalypse wouldn't be so bloody bad if Gellert had actually told him what he was getting into.

"We're going to be okay," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the angel's forehead.

It doesn't feel like it, of course. Even though they cannot die by human means, they are not immune to the fear and panic that the war brings.

"It's only just begun," Remus sighs.

Sirius doesn't know much about the apocalypse–or most biblical things; he hadn't been much of churchgoer in his life. When it comes to religious nonsense, Remus is definitely the expert. Ordinarily, he might ask Remus to tell him what happens. He's always found comfort in just listening to his husband ramble on and on about anything and everything. Today, however, he chooses to just take Remus' word for it.

"I can't think of anyone I'd rather be with during the apocalypse," Sirius says, resting his head against Remus' shoulder.

…

"I'm scared," Harry says.

Kingsley bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn't work well with others. Tonks had been the exception, but the antichrist had taken her away from him. His patience with the halfling is wearing thin, but he knows he cannot lose control. "We all get scared sometimes."

It's a lie. Archangels are immune to fear. Fear is a weakness that only inferior beings have, and it holds the mind prisoner and drives the host mad. Still, he knows that lies are comforting.

"But you have a big role to play in all of this," Kingsley continues.

He isn't sure what that role is, only that it is crucial to the grand plan. Albus has placed so much on the line just for the chance that the boy would be persuaded to join their side. It's possible that he's nearly as important as Newt Scamander himself.

Harry is quiet for several moments. He sits on his bed, staring pointedly at his feet like they're the most interesting things in the world. Finally, he sighs, looking up at Kingsley once again. "What do I do?" he asks.

"Make the choice. I know you've had two people reaching out to you. It's time to choose." Kingsley takes a deep breath before exhaling heavily. "After that, you have to have faith."

Harry stares at him, lips pursing. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows dryly. "Are you an angel?" he asks. "Are you like my papa?"

Kingsley chuckles. "Bigger. Would you like to see my wings?"

The halfling nods, and Kingsley allows his wings to come out. They are larger than the average angel's and appear to be made of flames. Kingsley stands up straight and tall, lips twisting into a broad grin. Harry's emerald eyes are bright with admiration.

"And I can fight with you?" he asks. "We'll be on the same side?"

Kingsley nods his confirmation. "All you have to do is choose."

…

His screams fill the air, drowning out the cries of the damned as their souls are tortured. It isn't supposed to be like this. The boy is meant to be _his_.

Gellert takes a deep breath, trying to convince himself that it's okay and he hadn't actually needed the boy. It doesn't work, and anger floods his body. "This isn't over, Albus!" he screams, shaking his fist as though his old nemesis is there to see the threat. "Just you wait!"

…

They find a way to carry on. The world is collapsing around them as war tears the country apart, and yet they are okay.

"How long does it last?" Sirius asks as Remus fixes them some tea.

Remus frowns, losing himself in thought. He can't quite remember if there's a number or if the war simply lasts until there's nothing left to fight over or for. "I don't know," he admits, dropping a sugar cube in Sirius' cup. "Harry! Tea's ready!"

Their son has been strangely quiet lately, and Remus worries about him. Both he and Sirius have tried reaching out to him, but neither have had any real luck with it. Harry just keeps to himself and smiles a strange smile. It's like the boy's fear and concern have been wiped away and he has somehow found peace these troubled times.

As if he can read Remus' mind, Sirius reaches out, giving Remus' shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "You worry too much, you know."

Remus grins and shakes his head. "So you keep telling me."

Harry enters the kitchen and takes a seat at the table. "How many casualties?" he asks in place of a regular greeting as he accepts his cup.

"I don't think that's good to talk about," Sirius says.

"I need to know."

Remus closes his eyes. The news rarely comes anymore, and it's hard to get any information from earthly sources, but he has his ways. There is a wealth of knowledge that angels can access as needed, but it takes a lot of concentration. With the world plunged into darkness and chaos, he hasn't had the time. He's been stretching himself thin, doing whatever he can to help those around him. Maybe it's a form of cruelty; sparing them from war only means that they will suffer more in the end.

He sighs, wincing as he taps into the source. "Two million," he answers.

Not just soldiers who had signed up for it, but civilians who had just been trying to live their lives. Maybe Remus can understand the appeal of atheism in this moment. How could those unaware of the grand plan continue to believe in a higher power during times like these.

He opens his eyes, studying his son. Harry looks deep in thought, his expression serious. "Two million," repeats. "And the plague?"

"Fifteen million," Remus says.

Seventeen million people have died at the hands of the horsemen, and it is far from over. Remus pinches the bridge of his nose. It's hard to stay positive sometimes, but he's still trying.

…

Chaos and bloodshed are so beautiful. Bellatrix licks her lips, relishing the taste of violence and death on her tongue.

Her work here is done. The great war is not yet over, but there is nothing more that she can do. She has planted the seeds of animosity, and it will continue to grow and grow until mankind is all but gone.

"Onward," she tells her horse, stroking its blood-red mane.

The horse obeys, and they soar through the sky to meet with Pestilence. Below, bombs go off, and guns fire without end. Still, despite all the noise, her delighted laughter can be heard.

…

The two sit together in darkness. Sirius snuggles closer, holding Remus' hand. In the distance, the sounds of war continue, but it doesn't affect them. Neither of them belong here; if not for their mission, they might not be here at all.

Still, he can tell that it bothers his husband. Remus has tried to remain detached, but he's still an angel, and angels are meant to serve and protect mankind. It must be killing Remus inside to not intervene.

"We'll be okay," he says.

Remus sighs and lets go of Sirius' hand. "I know we will," he says. "What about them?"

Sirius doesn't answer. Instead, he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and puts it in his mouth. Remus doesn't try to stop him when he lights it; the end of the world must mean that house rules no longer apply.

"It all has a reason, doesn't it?" Sirius asks, blowing smoke that's barely visible in the dark living room. "That's what your side teaches, right?"

"I thought so," Remus says, and he sounds so defeated. "I'm not so sure now."

Sirius frowns at that. Remus, despite everything, has held onto his faith this whole time. Hearing the doubt and hesitation in his voice is enough to break Sirius' heart.

He inhales, savoring the slight sting as the smoke burns his lungs. "You can always fall, you know." He leans back, closing his eyes. "Just a thought."

"I don't think that's really an option this late in the game," Remus says with a laugh.

Sirius' lips quirk. He takes another drag and exhales. "It could be."

But he knows it really isn't. At the end of the day, Remus is too good, too pure. He will fulfill his duty without question. All Sirius can really do is wish.

"I love you," Remus says softly. He leans in close and gently kisses Sirius' cheek. "Even if you do smell like a walking ashtray."

vii.

The third seal is a little easier to break. Newt wishes it could be different, and it hurts him to see the horseman upon the black horse come, carrying his scales.

"A quart of wheat for a denarius, and three quarts of barley for a denarius; but do not damage the oil and the wine," Famine says, seemingly to himself. He does not acknowledge Newt before riding off into sunrise.

Newt watches him for several moments before hanging his head and letting out a weary sigh. It will all be over soon. Only four more seals left, and then the world will be all but destroyed. If only it would get easier from there…

He forces himself to stand tall and proud. There's no need to worry now. The news has reached him, and Harry will be by his side when that great battle comes to pass. Maybe everything will be okay somehow.

…

Rodolphus rides through the air, studying the world below him. Bellatrix has done an excellent job destroying the land before him over the past year. There won't be much for him to do. Famine is just another cruel reality of war, and no one can be surprised when their fields are made barren by all the destruction happening around them.

"You will know a hunger like never before," he says, letting his poison sink into the crops below.

Once, it had been a lush farm, and crops had never failed to produce well. Now, the rows are thinner, and the plants don't look as strong. It won't be long before Rodolphus leaves his mark, and the crops are no more.

The world will slowly collapse. Crops will fail. Farmland will dry out and turn to dust.

Rodolphus laughs and carries on, summoning droughts and rot and weeds as he goes.

…

"We're in the middle of the bloody apocalypse," Sirius says dryly, lips twisting into an amused smile, "and you're worried because you don't have chocolate."

Remus rolls his eyes and turns away, already exhausted from this conversation. Of course Sirius would find a way to tease him over something that's actually important. It isn't that there isn't any chocolate to be found in the city–England has become so war torn that there aren't any proper stores anymore, only areas to receive rations–but rather that the cacao trees are all dying. Famine is spreading, and crops are failing, but Sirius only wants to give Remus a hard time.

Maybe he appreciates more than he's willing to admit. After all, the world is dark, and nothing really makes him smile anymore. He can't help thinking that this whole thing would be infinitely more miserable without Sirius.

"What are you smiling about?" Sirius teases. "Thinking about chocolate."

Remus snorts. "Shut up," he says, rolling his eyes and closing the distance between them. Je wraps his arms around his husband, pulling him into a tight hug and holding him like he's afraid to ever let go. "I'm glad I have you."

"Oh, no. Please don't be mushy. I might puke." But he laughs softly and runs his fingers lightly down Remus' spine.

They are such an unlikely and impossible couple, but they've found a way to work. Remus still doesn't understand how they've managed to go from hatred to love, but he's glad for it. He doesn't know what he would do right now without Sirius.

"Famine has been released," Remus says with a heavy sigh.

Sirius groans. "And here I thought we were doing the whole romance thing," he mutters. "Can we go back to that."

"I wish."

Their days of playing house are over. Though neither have been called back, and they still have Harry to watch over, things have changed. The world isn't the same bright and happy place it had been fourteen years ago, but they still hold on to any semblance of hope and normalcy they can find.

"Famine, huh?" Sirius pulls away, frowning. "That doesn't sound too bad."

"Starvation." Remus shudders, his mind plagued with the image of thousands of people, all skin and bones, barely clinging to life. "It's a slow and painful death."

Sirius winces. "I think I would much rather be ripped apart by an explosion. At least it's fast."

It doesn't matter, really. None of these things will affect them physically. Still, it's eating Remus up inside to know he can't save everyone.

"You're right," he says. "I would much rather go back to the romance."

Sirius steps closer, reaching out and stroking Remus' hair. "We still can."

Remus doesn't know how, but he also knows that nothing is impossible with Sirius. His lips quirk into a small smile. "Okay."

…

The city is in ruins. Kingsley frowns as he and Harry walk through the streets, unnoticed by the humans around them. Throughout the millennia, he has walked through this area, and he's never seen it look so bad. Buildings that had once stood tall and proud have been reduced to rubble. The drought has taken its toll as well. Where there had once been green grass and weeds masquerading as pretty flowers, there is only a dry, brown mess.

"What's happening?" Harry asks. "I mean, exactly."

The boy doesn't know enough. Kingsley has spent as much time as possible with him, but it's hard to stay away from Albus for too long. Battle plans are being made, and his creator needs him.

"Famine has been released," the archangel answers.

Harry frowns, green eyes narrowing as his considers this. "More people are going to die."

Kingsley nods, lips pressed together and forming a hard, thin line. He's always known it would happen, but that knowledge doesn't make this any easier. Albus has worked himself into a frenzy, and the heavens are chaotic, and fear has spread among the host.

"There's nothing I can do to stop that, is there?"

"Afraid not," Kingsley says, wincing as they pass a frail woman covered in dust and dirt, holding out a skeletal hand to anyone who passes.

Harry doesn't seem satisfied with that answer. His expression hardens, and he stops suddenly, gesturing around. "Then what's the bloody point of being some great chosen one?" he asks. "Why am I so special it I can't even save these people?"

"Albus says–"

"Fuck your so-called all-powerful Albus, and fuck you too," Harry snarls.

Kingsley winces, but he doesn't say anything for several moments. The anger radiates from the halfling, and he finally understands why Albus and Gellert had both wanted the boy. Though he isn't the most powerful being, he has a unique energy about him that Kingsley has never witnessed until now.

"If you side with Gellert," Kingsley tells him, "all hope will be lost, and mankind won't stand a chance at all. Just because you can't make a difference here and now doesn't mean you can't impact the grand plan. When Newt goes off to fight, he's fighting for the chance that this earth will become the new Paradise. Just something to think about."

Silence hangs between them as they walk. Kingsley doesn't mind the silence. At least it means that Harry is considering everything Kingsley has said.

The two slow their pace as they approach a dilapidated building. Though it's been a popular spot for vandalism since the war, one bit of graffiti stands out among the rest: the skull and serpent, painted in green. Kingsley knows what it means and whose mark it is, but it still makes him uneasy to see it. Unfortunately, it has become more and more common during the war.

Despite everything, Tom Riddle has found a way to carry on. He's given up his band and traded metal for an acoustic sound, but he's still out there and spreading his message. The Dark Mark can be found on walls and clothing; some people have even gone as far as to tattoo it permanently on their skin.

"He has to be stopped," Harry says.

Kingsley nods. "The time will come," he assures him.

Harry purses his lips and falls silent once more. They walk faster now, moving past the Dark Mark. Even though it is nothing more than paint on crumbling brick, it puts Kingsley on edge, and he wants to get away from it as quickly as possible.

…

Tom smiles to himself as he looks out at the little tent city that has cropped up. More and more people flock to these places, seeking his guidance and protection. He's like a god, and he loves it.

There are more across the world. Gellert has placed his little agents where necessary, but none are quite as great as Tom's little place. They look at him with desperate eyes and eagerly allow themselves to be branded with the Dark Mark in exchange for shelter and food.

Of course, food is harder to come by. Gellert says that Famine has ridden, and it isn't hard to tell that he might be right.

It doesn't matter. His job isn't to keep them alive. All he has to do is seal their souls, find a way to condemn them by marking them for Gellert.

As he walks past tent after tent, his smile only broadens. It's only a matter of time before everything is wiped out, and all of Hell will crawl from the pits to reign. This will be his kingdom, and he will gain his immortality, forever proud to be the man who marched countless souls to their doom, all for the greater good.

…

"Where's Harry?" Sirius asks.

It doesn't worry him as much anymore. By now, Harry has learned to control his powers. Besides, he doubts anyone would even think twice about witnessing the supernatural. Everyone seems to be praying for a miracle; maybe Harry would be enough.

"Kingsley," Remus answers.

"Ah."

Not surprising. Harry tends to smell like heavenly fire more and more lately. Only archangels carry such a distinct scent. Maybe it should bother him. He's a demon, after all. The idea of his son spending so much time with an archangel should anger him. Instead, he almost feels relieved.

The more time he's spent with Harry, the more he's come to realize that the halfling is so pure and good. Hell isn't a place for someone like him. It isn't quite a defeat. At least Remus is victorious; that will have to be enough.

Remus looks up from his coffee, frowning. "Something wrong?"

Sirius' lips quirk ever so slightly, and he shakes his head. "No."

He's surprised to realize that he means it. Regardless of how bad this world gets or how much he's failed his master, Sirius is actually happy. When he's with Remus, he feels nothing but peace. For just a few glorious moments, he can forget that everything is crashing around them, that they will be called to opposite sides of the battlefield. Right now, he has Remus. Nothing can bring him down.

"You're staring again." Remus sets his coffee aside and folds his arms over his chest, studying Sirius with raised brows. "Any particular reason why?"

Sirius laughs and moves closer, pulling the angel into a hug. He holds him close, smiling to himself. When Gellert had first asked him to take this mission, it had almost felt like a punishment. Even though it had been a chance to prove himself, and the idea of corrupting his very own angel had filled him with the greatest joy, it had seemed so unfair. He had been afraid Remus' constant morality would rub off on him, and Sirius would become a perfect little altar boy.

Maybe it hasn't been such an extreme change, but he _has _touched Sirius in a way that no one else could. Though Sirius still enjoys alcohol and cigarettes, he has set aside most of his old ways. Remaining in a monogamous marriage has actually been enjoyable.

He realizes that Remus makes him want to be better.

"I'm lucky I have you." Sirius leans up and kisses his husband's jaw, relishing the shiver his lips cause. "So fucking lucky."

"I think I'm the lucky one."

With a laugh, Sirius pulls away, searching Remus' face for a punchline; there's no humor in his eyes, no traitorous upward turn of his lips. Somehow, he is completely serious, and it baffles Sirius. In his opinion, Sirius isn't really anything special. His life had been spent rebelling and doing everything he could to stay in trouble and make some noise. His afterlife has been much worse.

How can Remus look at him like he's the most wonderful thing in existence? Sirius will never understand, but doesn't care. Knowing how loved he is makes everything worth it.

"I beg to differ," Sirius murmurs, stroking his lover's hair and grinning.

"Well, you're allowed to be wrong."

…

Months pass, and the plants wilt and die across the land. Rodolphus watches, absolutely delighted as the soil loses its nutrients, and swarms of insects feast upon the crops. The few that survive are rare and coveted, and they are priced too high for many to afford.

The black horse travels across the globe, and Rodolphus admires the aftermath of his work. Countless bodies line the street, all starved to death. There are malnourished people on every corner, and it's only a matter of time before they join his collection.

Satisfied that his work is done, he rides, ready to join Bellatrix and Rabastan.

viii.

It gets easier somehow. Though there's still a heaviness in Newt's heart, he doesn't hesitate as he breaks the fourth seal.

The pale horse steps out, and the rider takes a deep breath as he stretches his arms like a man who has woken from a nice nap. Death looks at Newt, grinning and winking at him. "Hello again," he says with a laugh before digging his heels into the horse's hindquarters and riding off.

Newt watches and sighs. In the back of his mind, he knows that this is almost over, that he's more than halfway through breaking the seals. Still, it provides him little comfort. In the long run, things will be fine. For now, he has to sit back and know that his beloved creatures are dying, and he cannot intervene.

It gets easier to sit back and watch things fall apart. Maybe Newt hates himself a little bit for that.

…

Barty doesn't rush through the night sky. Death will find everyone in his time; why should he be in a hurry now? After all, his influence has always been here, always the only inevitable thing that all of mankind is promised. All he wants to do is take his time and enjoy his freedom.

It doesn't look like he'll have much to do. The other three have already left a hefty mark. Death and destruction litter the land, and all he has to do is finish it up so that things can really start moving.

"All in good time," he says to himself as he soars over the ruins of what had once been the majestic city of London.

…

Remus opens his eyes, his wings wrapping around his trembling body. Meditation is meant to be a calming experience, but he feels shaken. Accessing the network of worldly events is draining, especially given the lack of good news lately.

But Sirius is there, and everything is okay. His fingers gently glide over Remus' pure, white feathers. It isn't enough to chase away the darkness, but Remus still finds a way to relax at his touch. Remus leans in, sighing heavily. His head rests against Sirius' chest, and the closeness makes him feel better.

"What is it now?"

"Death," Remus answers.

Death has been taking his time. Remus had always assumed it would be as swift as the other horsemen. Death would rush through the streets, and the world would be ripped apart. Instead, it has been a slow, steady process.

The Mississippi River had flooded, trapping some and drowning others. A week later, a tsunami had wiped out a third of the Philippines' population. Nearly a month later, a fire had spread through the remains of Warsaw, killing the few survivors who had taken refuge in the area.

If not for the current environment, Remus could almost dismiss it as normal. There have been too many disasters over a short period of time, and none have struck without casualties.

"I don't understand." Sirius frowns, pushing his hand through his dark hair. "Death was already a thing. People die every day. That's just part of life."

"Not like this. Not on this scale."

Remus curls closer to his husband and takes a deep breath. There's nothing he can do. He has to come to terms with the fact every day, and he wonders if it will ever really stick. This is the worst part, feeling so helpless.

Sirius holds him close. At least Remus isn't alone; at least he has someone by his side to make him feel like maybe he can get through this with his sanity still intact. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" Sirius asks, nuzzling Remus' neck.

"This is nice," Remus murmurs.

It isn't a perfect solution, and it won't really do any good in the long run, but it is a moment of peace.

"I've got an idea," Sirius tells him, climbing to his feet and reaching down.

Remus hesitates. He doesn't really mind it, but Sirius' ideas tend to end with them in the bedroom. It's nice, and it passes the time, but it doesn't accomplish anything beyond pleasure.

As if he can read Remus' mind, Sirius lets out a barking laugh. "Trust me." His fingers around Remus' wrist, and he tugs gently. "Would I ever lead you astray?"

Remus chuckles softly, lips pursing as he allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Only a decade ago, he would have never trusted Sirius. Though the demon still has his faults, Remus knows that he can happily trust him with his life.

"What do you have in mind?"

…

Harry knows that he should go home. His dads undoubtedly miss him; he spends so much time walking the streets, trying to clear his head and wrap his mind around everything that he only really goes home once or twice a day to check in and make sure everything is okay.

They've done their part. They've raised Harry into a strong young man. He's still a halfling who doesn't quite belong anywhere, but he's learned to accept himself. His dad has taught him to be fierce and never back down, and his papa has helped him to be kind and good.

Whenever this is all over, he hopes they'll find a way to be okay.

"You shouldn't be out here."

Harry pauses and looks up. Regulus sits atop a crumbling wall, clad in a leather jacket that reminds Harry of his dad's. His grey eyes flash jet black as conjures a cigarette from thin air and lights it.

"I'm not a kid," Harry says defensively, and it takes a lot of restraint to not stomp his foot and contradict the statement. "I'm nearly fifteen."

Regulus laughs and adjusts his position on the wall, crossing his legs and balancing shakily. "Right. That's quite grown," he says with a smirk before blowing white-grey clouds of smoke between his lips. "It's not like you have a price on your head or anything."

This has never even crossed his mind. Harry shivers and looks over his shoulder, waiting for the inevitable attack. Regulus laughs again, and Harry returns his attention back to his demonic uncle, scowling. "Am I amusing you?"

"Only because you think I would try to collect on that reward." Regulus shrugs, taking another deep drag from the cigarette. "I may be a demon, but I'm loyal to my brother, not my master."

Harry considers this for a moment. Regulus has never seemed particularly intimidating. Besides, he's more than a little sure that his dad would likely kill Regulus if he actually tried to hurt Harry. "So, what? Just here to warn me that people want me dead?" He supposes he shouldn't be surprised; that seems pretty on par with being a chosen one. "Thanks for that."

"Actually, I wanted to make sure you weren't alone. You normally have your little archangel lapdog following you around," Regulus says, dangling his cigarette lazily between his lips and holding up his arms in a way that mimics a begging dog.

"Kingsley isn't a _lapdog,_" Harry huffs, eyes rolling as begins to walk away.

He hears a soft _thud _as the demon jumps down from behind him. Regulus catches up to him easily. "Are you worried?" he asks. "You know it won't be long before you have to fight."

Harry doesn't answer straight away. If he's honest, he's terrified. His dads have been training him for years, and Kingsley has taken the time to prepare him further. Still, the thought of actually facing this fearsome antichrist while Newt Scamander–_the _Newt Scamander–faces off against Gellert is frightening. It's all good and well to think of things in terms of theories and maybes, but this is something that will come to pass. There is no way around it.

"You know, I…" Regulus pauses to crush his cigarette beneath his foot. He places a fresh cigarette between his lips and lights it before continuing. "I made a mistake when I sold my soul. Don't get me wrong! I'm glad I managed to keep Sirius safe and all. But… I just…" He shakes his head. "What I'm saying is that, when the time comes, you will have at least one demon in your corner, other than Sirius."

Harry doesn't know what to say. All he can really do is nod mutely.

He doesn't know what Regulus can do when that day comes, but he doesn't question. Having an extra ally means the world to him.

"Thank you."

…

The shelter is small and overcrowded. Remus can taste the sickness and suffering as they enter.

"Are you seeking shelter here?" a stern-looking woman with dark hair pulled into a bun asks.

Remus recognizes Minerva McGonagall and smiles. She's always been a good woman who is willing to sacrifice anything to keep her school children safe. Remus had hoped to have a chance to be her guardian angel once upon a time.

"We're looking for someone," Sirius answers, offering her a bright, charming smile.

"Very well."

When they move past her, Remus leans in, dropping his voice to a soft whisper. "Who are we looking for?"

"No one," Sirius responds. "You're going to help them."

Remus isn't sure that he's heard Sirius correctly. He stops, feet firmly planted, and digs his finger into his ear to make sure nothing is blocking his hearing. "I'm going to what?"

"Help them."

Remus stares at his husband, jaw slack as he tries to process this. He could, of course. Remus is a healing angel, and he can take away so much of this pain. At least, he could if Albus would give him the order to do so.

As it stands, his only order has been to raise Harry, and it looks like that has been accomplished. He isn't sure what he's supposed to do now, but he isn't like the rest of the world. For angels, free will does not exist. This isn't something small that won't have a ripple effect. This could only be done with a command from his creator.

It hurts so bad. He sees the sick and wounded, and his grace warms his veins. All he wants is to reach out, to make things better, and he can't.

"Why did you bring me here?" Remus whispers, his voice cracking.

"They're praying to Albus, but he obviously isn't listening," Sirius says. "But you are. You can make a difference."

Remus wonders if this is what Eve must have felt in the Garden of Eden upon being tempted with the forbidden fruit. He's managed to resist temptation for millennia, but he's never been faced with a situation quite like this. In theory, he can do it. With everything else that's going on, Albus is bound to be too busy to notice a few minor miracles.

And yet…

"I can't get away with it forever," Remus says. "Eventually, my grace will fail me, and I will fall."

Sirius nods like he understands. Maybe he does, to an extent, but Remus doubts he can truly understand the gravity of the dilemma. Still, he offers Remus a smile that makes him feel a little stronger. "I'll catch you," he says.

And Remus doesn't think it quite works like that. Falling is painful and terrifying, or so he has been told. Sirius won't be able to catch him. Regardless, Remus is sure that Sirius will be there by his side, ready to hold his hand and help him along.

"Excuse me," Remus calls, gesturing toward Minerva. "I need to see your quarantined."

He doesn't have to he helpless. Sirius is right; he can make a difference.

…

Albus wonders if he should be surprised by Remus' defiance. Maybe it should be expected. After all, Remus has been in the company of that demon for quite some time now. He had hoped Remus would have been able to resist the tendrils of doubt, but, in the end, it hadn't been enough.

Under ordinary circumstances, he would cast Remus out and be done with it. Given the current climate, however, he has his hands full. He will cut off Remus' grace. Slowly, it will deplete, and Remus will be among the fallen.

"It's a pity," he says with a sigh as he waves a hand and severs the ties.

Remus has always been such a faithful and devoted servant. Knowing this demon has managed to corrupt him… Albus scowls. Remus should have been unshakable. Of all the angels in Heaven, he should have been the one who would be loyal and true.

"No matter." He makes his way to the chessboard and looks down, studying the squares.

The chessboard is more defined now, and figures slowly creep along, finding their positions on the squares below. At first glance, it looks like the two sides are nearly evenly matched, but he is not afraid. Despite Remus' betrayal, he has done one thing perfectly. Harry has been raised in a way that make Albus proud, and he will stand by Newt's side when the final battle takes place. All will be well, one way or another.

…

Tom sits by the fire. Death has run rampant, and there aren't as many survivors in his camp.

_Good._

That means that all is going according to plan, and they are one step closer to that great, glorious battle. Some of the other survivors look at him like he's supposed to hold their hands and tell them everything will be okay. He doesn't. Instead, he keeps up a strong appearance and whispers sweet, velvety promises.

They trust him. They follow him blindly and without question, and Tom loves it. They will follow him right into Hell, and they won't think anything of it.

"We found this girl," one of the campers tells him, appearing with a teenager at his side. "She wants to stay here."

"Mark her."

They have long since run out of ink. Any marks are made with blade or flame. The girl must realize this, because she tries to run. Tom lifts his hand, channeling the powers Gellert has granted him. All he has to do is curl his fingers inward, forming a fist, and she freezes mid-step.

No one questions it anymore. They look at Tom like he's some sort of great savior. No one cares that he is strange, that he can make things happen that no one can really explain. To them, it is just another sign that he is meant to lead them.

"Mark her," he says again, his voice harder now and leaving no room for argument.

In the early days, he had given them a choice. Now that the seals are breaking, it's more vital than ever that he collects more souls for his master.

He sits back, lifting his glass of water to his lips and sipping. As the mark is forced upon the girl, and her screams fill the night air, he can't help but smile.

…

It has been a good ride, but it must come to an end. Of course, Barty's mark will be left on the world, and death will always find a way, but he has to join the others now.

It has been a good six months. All the little disasters and tragedies have been a great joy, and he hates to leave.

His fingers brush through his pale horse's mane, and he smiles. "Onward," he says, and they ride.

ix.

The horsemen have done their jobs. The earth is descending into chaos, and there is death and destruction everywhere.

Dressed in a white robe, Newt stands before the fifth seal. Head held high, he breaks it.

…

Remus screams. Sirius hates seeing his husband like this and knowing he cannot take away the pain. Still, he's by Remus' side, gripping his hand and making soothing shushing sounds.

"It's okay," he says. "I'm here."

He hates himself a little bit now. At the time, telling Remus to rebel had seemed like a good idea. It had been hurting Remus to just stand by and watch others suffer. The obvious solution had been to push him to help.

He never could have guessed that falling would be such a slow, painful process, but, little by little, Remus' grace has drained, and his pained screams have been a constant soundtrack in their house.

Remus' wings burst from his back, and Sirius bites back a gasp. His white feathers have changed. They've gone grey, though some parts are black, like they've been burnt. Sirius covers his mouth with his hand, studying his lover and trying to find something to say that might be helpful.

"I'm sorry," is all he can manage. "I did this to you…"

Remus shakes his head. Somehow, even though there is pain in his amber eyes, he manages to smile. "No. I made a choice."

Sirius wonders if Remus is just trying to comfort him. That's something the sappy fool would do in a heartbeat. No matter how much he suffers, of course he would want to make sure Sirius is okay. He's always been too damn kind for his own good.

He shakes his head, unable to resist a small smile. "Really, Remus, you're hopeless."

"Yeah. Maybe." Remus stretches out until his belly touches the floor. His breathing becomes labored and uneven. "I couldn't just sit there anymore."

"Hopeless," Sirius says again.

He doesn't know what falling feels like. Though some fallen angels become demons, not all do. Sirius has met a handful of the fallen over time, and they've all described falling as painful but worth it. He has never given it much thought until now.

_Worth it._

He isn't so sure. Can this level of suffering really be worth it? Had those people been important enough for his sacrifice?

"What's wrong with Papa?" Harry asks.

Sirius takes a deep breath because the last thing he needs is for his son to see Remus like this. He clenches his jaw, taking a moment to calm down before speaking. If he doesn't, he's he may scream out of anger, and he doesn't want that. "It's okay, Harry," he says. "It's just…"

"Don't lie to him, Sirius."

Sirius is silent for several moments. He looks from his husband to his son. "He's falling," he answers, turning his attention back to Remus. "He's used up most of his grace, and the rest of it is draining out."

He hates having to voice it aloud, as though admitting it will somehow give it more power. But there's no way around this. The feathers are slowly darkening; some fall to the floor before turning to dust, leaving small bald spots in their wake.

"Is…" Harry moves closer. He reaches out before seeming to think better of it. His hand drops back to his side, and he swallows dryly. "Will he be okay?"

Sirius wants to tell him that of course Remus will be okay, but he isn't quite sure. All he knows is that he is helpless and afraid, and he wishes he had never suggested Remus stray.

Harry kneels beside him and wraps an arm around Sirius. Sirius sighs and allows his son to hug him. "I'm sorry, Dad."

Sirius nods, pressing his lips together in a hard line. "Me too," he says, his heart dropping to his chest. "Me too."

…

"What happens now?" the woman–Alecto, Tom thinks is her name, but he can't quite remember anymore–asks, leaning in with bright, curious eyes.

She and her brother are other agents sent from Gellert, and they follow Tom around like lost puppies. It might be cute under different circumstances, but he finds it annoying now. Of course, he would never say anything. If his master wishes for him to put up with a couple of numb skulls, he won't question it. They are nothing compared to him, and that little reminder keeps a wicked smile on his face.

"We wait," he says.

Truth be told, Tom doesn't know what the endgame actually is. He's never picked up a Bible, and he probably won't any time soon. Amycus' brother has said something about martyrs, but that means nothing to Tom.

He's bored. He had wrongly assumed things would be different. In the early days, there has been more to do. Now, he feels like he might lose his mind having to sit still for so long.

But he does it because he's meant to. He has one of the most important roles to play in the apocalypse. Even if he's bored, he would never complain.

Alecto, however, seems to lack his manners. She crosses her chubby arms over her chest and scowls as she sits across from him. "I'm sick of waiting," she snaps.

"Join the club," Amycus says darkly, sitting next to his sister. "It's not like this is some fun holiday for the rest of us."

Tom slumps forward, massaging his temples as a headache threatens to overtake him. That's the worst part, he thinks. Maybe he would he able to happily deal with the boredom and the nonsense. But these two? Gellert's other mindless followers? It's enough to drive him mad. He seems to keep a headache more often than not, and the others just continuously drain him.

It will all be worth it in the end. These fools won't matter; in the grand scheme of things, they are little more than insects, just minor inconveniences for him to tolerate until that glorious day comes, and he is free of them.

…

"I don't understand what's happening to my papa," Harry says. "Dad said his grace is draining, but that doesn't make any sense."

Kingsley looks around the dusty old attic. There isn't anything particularly interesting or valuable up here; he just struggles to look Harry in the eye.

He had tried to warn Albus that throwing Remus out might be a tricky situation. They've worked so hard to sway the halfling and recruit him to their cause, but he's afraid that the smallest things might make that trust break. Punishing one of the boy's fathers should be more than enough to push Harry away. Still, Albus is stubborn. He's been around since the earth itself, and he's so sure that he knows what's best for everyone and everything. Kingsley suspects that the great creator is too busy looking at the bigger picture to notice all the smaller components. Regardless, Kingsley is his faithful servant, and he will never push Albus.

"Remus…" Kingsley clears his throat and shuffles his feet awkwardly. "Remus isn't an angel anymore."

The confusion that twists Harry's face genuinely hurts. The halfling shakes his head, nearly knocking his glasses off from the movement. "I don't understand. Of course he's an angel. That's… that's _what he is_," he argues.

Honestly, Kingsley doesn't quite understand it either. He's older than most of the heavenly host, but the process involved in falling is one of the greatest mysteries to him. Truth be told, he doesn't want to understand it. The idea of falling is frightening, and he has seen how it can warp an angel into something unrecognizable. Once, he had called Gellert _brother, _and he had loved him, just he he loves the others in Heaven. Now, Gellert is little more than a stranger to him.

"I really wish I could do something," Kingsley says, his deep voice cracking with emotion.

He really does like Remus. The angel has been a good soldier, and Kingsley has never met anyone who could heal others with the same ease. It's almost funny. Gellert had been cast out for refusing to serve man. Now, Remus shall meet the same fate because he's served man a little too well. It's almost like there's no rhyme or reason to it at all.

He shakes his head. Thinking like that is one step below blasphemy. Albus knows what he's doing; everything will play out as it should, and Kingsley needs to maintain his faith. The end of times is no place to doubt and question.

"There's nothing you can do?" Harry asks, incredulous. His hands form fists, but he manages to relax them. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Harry has made so much progress. His power has grown, and he has proven himself to be an adept warrior. Unfortunately, he wears his heart on his sleeve, and his emotions get the best of him too often. It makes him dangerous.

"I'm sorry."

Harry's eyes open. "What's the point of you?"

Kingsley winces, but he stands tall and strong. "I know this is a tragedy to you," he says calmly, "but you are still needed. Remus has played his part, and he has done well. Albus will be merciful, I'm sure."

"Merciful?" Harry demands, laughing dryly. He takes a step back, wringing his hands together. He begins to pace wildly, and Kingsley worries that he might actually attack. "My papa only did what was right! He helped people! Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

Kingsley opens his mouth to respond, but the answer seems to stick in his throat. He snaps his mouth closed and hangs his head, staring pointedly at the scuffed floorboards beneath his feet. Yes, for the most part, that's exactly what the heavenly host are meant to do. There are exceptions, of course, and they must always follow Albus' commands.

"You can do this without me," Harry says, his voice low and deadly. "I will not serve someone as cruel and pathetic as Albus, and Gellert isn't any better. I'm not going to be your bloody pawn." With that, he fades into the shadows, leaving Kingsley standing there, baffled.

For several moments, Kingsley just stares at the spot where Harry had been moments ago. He isn't sure what this will mean for the final days and that great battle. Whenever Albus has ever spoken of Harry's role and the possible outcomes, it has always been with certainty. Now, it seems like grand plan is falling apart before their eyes.

What will become of Albus' grand plan now? With a heavy sigh, Kingsley disappears from the attic. All he can do is have faith and trust in his creator.

…

Remus wakes, his mind fuzzy. He sits up, his body aching at the movement. Blinking rapidly, he looks around, trying to understand. He remembers stretching out on the floor, screaming through the pain. Sirius had stayed with him, holding his hand and whispering reassurances. He tries to remember anything after that, but there is only darkness. He must have passed out from the pain, and Sirius must have brought him to their bedroom.

And it _had _hurt. Remus, like the other heavenly host, had always heard the stories of the fallen. They've been told that it's the worst pain an angel can experience, and he believes it.

He doesn't know what he had expected, but this must have been worse because his mind could never have imagined the level of agony he had experienced. No living creature could. It had been like a thousand white-hot needles had been forced into every pore of his body. The worst part had been feeling the grace within him ripped out without mercy.

In his head, he had heard Gellert whispering to him. The wicked king of Hell had promised him a home and safety; he had vowed that Remus would he welcome among his army of fallen in the pits of the underworld.

He might have lost his mind and given to the temptation and corruption if Sirius hadn't been there.

"Sirius?"

"I'm here." His husband sits beside him on the bed and rests a shaky hand on Remus' knee. "How do you feel?"

"Physically? Sore." Remus unfolds his wings and turns his head to examine them. The sight makes him sick.

He knows what a fallen's wings look like, of course. They are only one step away from becoming demons, and their wings reflect that. Still, he isn't prepared to see the battered, darkened wings and _know _that they are attached to his body. Weakly, he flaps them. The movement is slow and pitiful–falling horribly short of their former glory.

It takes everything in him not to cry.

Sirius is quick. He wraps his arms around Remus and holds him close. "Hey. It's okay," he soothes. "We've got each other. We've got our son."

Remus bites back a laugh. He knows better than to believe that. Harry has made his choice, and he will take his place by Newt's side. Remus has ensured that, and he's angry with himself for it.

That's… new. Remus realizes he's never felt this type of anger. There's a flood of emotions washing through his being, and he suddenly feels woozy. With a groan, he falls back.

"Remus?"

"I'm fine." He opens and closes his eyes rapidly, trying to clear his head. How can anything feel so much? It's all too overwhelming.

He swallows dryly and tries to sit up again. The room seems to spin, but he holds Sirius' hand, and it makes him feel like maybe the world won't fall away. "You say we have our son, but do we really?" he asks. "He's on the side of the angels."

Sirius laughs, and Remus tips his head to the side and tries to figure out what's so funny.

"We raised our boy right," Sirius tells him, grinning. "Apparently he didn't appreciate your fall very much. Told an archangel to shove it, more or less."

Remus doesn't quite understand. What does this mean? It's too late in the game for the apocalypse to end; too many seals have been broken, and there's no way to reverse the damage that has been done. Can Harry really just walk away?

"We're gonna be a proper little family again," Sirius says, lips quirking into an amused smile. "Hell of a time to do that, eh?"

Remus chuckles. "Nah. It's only the end of the world."

x.

Newt makes his way to the sixth seal. After this, there will only be one left to break. He should be excited, but his heart is heavy and sinking.

They have lost their alliance with Harry. The halfling is a key element in the final battle, and Newt needs him. According to Kingsley, no amount of pleading will change Albus or Harry's mind. What has been done is done, and they must all deal with the consequences.

Can he truly win without the boy by his side? Newt supposes it is possible, but the chances are certainly slimmer now. All he knows is that he will give it his best.

He opens the sixth seal. Below, the earth begins to quake, and nothing is without fear.

…

Albus waits and watches. They are so close that he can almost taste it.

The world trembles, and he can hear the screams and prayers, but he cannot intervene. Humans had been his favorite creation. But there is work to be done. With a deep sigh, he turns his back on the world.

…

There is screaming as the ground splits open. Tom watches, his heart racing in his chest. How can something be both fascinating and terrifying all at once?

"Help!"

"Mummy? Where's my mummy?"

The chaos is so beautiful. Tom sits by his tent, watching the madness untold. His laughter can be heard over the frantic screams and desperate pleading.

It's only a matter of time.

…

Harry stands outside the old park, watching everything crumble. Overhead, the sky darkens, and the sun turns inky black.

His papa says this is the next to last seal, and that it won't be long until the true terror begins. Harry can't imagine how it could get worse than this, but he doesn't answer.

"Watch it, kid!" Regulus grips his shoulder and shadow travels them away as something falls to the ground. When they're safe elsewhere, he offers Harry a grin. "Guess it's a good thing I pledged my loyalty to you, huh? I imagine getting hit by a damn star would feel very good."

"Star?"

Regulus nods and tucks a cigarette between his lips. Harry wonders if demons have some special ability to manifest their vices out of thin air. It has to be; how else can Regulus have a cigarette when everything has been destroyed.

"A star. Blimey, kid. Didn't you actually pay attention to what the apocalypse entails?" He laughs, sucking in a deep breath and breathing out smoke. "You're too much like my brother."

Harry's eyes widen as he thinks of his dads. They're still out there. What if he never sees them again?

As if he can read Harry's mind, Regulus chuckles and reaches out. He ruffles Harry's hair. "Don't worry."

Before Harry can ask, his dads appear.

"A little warning next time!" his papa snaps.

His dad snorts. "Right. Yeah, I'll make sure to schedule the fucking falling stars around your convenience."

Harry can't help but laugh. The world is ending, but at least his parents are steadfast and unchanging.

…

This isn't how Remus had imagined his apocalypse would be. Since his creation, he's always dreamt of fighting valiantly and defending his creator, even if it would mean sacrificing his own life.

Now, he is hidden away somewhere, surrounded by two demons and halfling, and he can't think of anything better.

"What are you grinning about?" Sirius asks, brows raising as he sits beside him and stretches out, his legs resting over Remus' lap. "Should I be jealous? Only I can make you grin like that."

"Shut up." Remus leans in, cupping his husband's face gently in his hand and kissing him. "Just thinking of how lucky I am."

"Thought we already established that _I'm _the lucky one," Sirius says, poking his tongue out like a child.

With a soft laugh, Remus leans back, shaking his head. "We can both be lucky," he says. "Not everything is a competition."

"Whatever you say."

It's funny. They're in the middle of apocalypse, and the world is ending, and yet _his _life has only just begun.


End file.
